


Artificial

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ????!Ignis, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Blood and Violence, Cyborg!Gladio, Explicit Sexual Content, Ignis has more secrets than the Illuminati, M/M, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn, dan gladi ur augments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 97,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: If this was heaven, Gladio thought, God had a lot of explaining to do.





	1. Origin

“How ya holdin’ up there, LT?”

“I’d be holdin’ up a lot fuckin’ better if we could get some air support,” Gladio said through gritted teeth, straining to keep his massive multiphasic nanomachine shield deployed in front of him. The pale blue barrier was twice as wide as Gladio was tall and had begun to ripple with every blow it absorbed, a dangerous sign that it was about to collapse.

As if to illustrate the point, an explosion erupted directly in front of Gladio, the force of it thundering through his bones. He maintained position—barely—his combat boots digging two matching trenches in the dirt from the force of the pushback. His ears rang, a high pitched whine caused by the volume of the blast. The shield flickered out of existence for a moment before guttering back to life, its crystalline shape wavering. Gladio knew it could take one, maybe two more hits before it’d need to recharge. And then they’d be sitting ducks.

“Keep hope alive. They’ll be here,” Nyx said with a cocky grin from Gladio’s right.

“It ain’t hope I’m worried about keeping alive, it’s our asses,” Gladio said.

When the debris from the explosion cleared, Gladio swore. It hadn’t been an explosion, it’d been a troop drop, and Gladio now stood face to face with an MA-X Cuirass unit. It raised two arms in Gladio’s direction, each outfitted with Gatling guns, and Gladio could hear the whir as the guns readied to fire.

“Don’t worry, LT, I’ve got this one,” Nyx said.

Gladio watched as Nyx became a black blur flying above him, two long, sparking daggers extended in front of him. His form flashed out of existence, rematerializing on top of the MA-X. As the unit opened fire on Gladio’s shield, Nyx drove both carbonite daggers into the MA-X and unloaded the full electric charge they held.

Several things happened at once. Gladio’s shield disappeared, leaving him with only the handled module that it deployed from and no shield. The MA-X toppled to the ground, lightning cascading around its form. Gladio, realizing belatedly that the unit was about to self-destruct, turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Nyx blinked into existence beside him for a moment, gave Gladio a thumbs up, and quantum phased ahead.

Gladio would have hurled an affectionate insult his way, but his lungs were on fire as he tried to put distance between himself and the MA-X. He felt the self-destruct go off, a wave of heat and pressure behind him, but it was far less than what he’d borne when the unit deployed.

“Someday you’re gonna scramble your atoms as much as your brain,” Gladio called to Nyx. He reached behind him and drew his sword module from the strap on his back. With a flick of a switch, it expanded out into its full two meter length, coming to life with a sonic hum.

Now that the shield was out of commission… it was Apocalypse’s time to shine.

“And someday you’ll stop bringing knives to gun fights, scarface,” Nyx said. Gladio watched as he phased into the ongoing fray and lost sight of him.

They were holding position here, but barely. They really needed the Lucian Coalition fighters to arrive take out the Imperial dropships overhead, but so far they were nowhere to be seen. Gladio surveyed the ground fighting. The Kingsglaive was a Spec Ops unit, made up of the best of the best the Lucian Coalition had to offer, but even the advanced Lucian technology at their disposal paled against the sheer volume of mechanized soldiers the Empire could churn out. Marionette-like MTs wielded guns, blades, axes, and sometimes even weapons from downed Lucian soldiers against them.

The fighting was concentrated into pockets at the moment, Kingsglaive soldiers standing their ground despite being severely outnumbered. Their objective was to defend the Planetary Defense Shield link point that the Niffs were trying to destroy, and so far so good. Gladio spotted a weak section of their flank and tried not to think too hard about the black-garbed Glaive that laid motionless on the ground. 

Gladio roared and sprinted towards the MTs massing in that section. One controlled swing of his greatsword sent a wave of sonic energy pulsing out from the blade, the emitted thrum so low as to be almost sub-hearing. The wave flattened an entire platoon’s worth of MTs, leaving them prone to further attack.

Gladio gave a savage and wild grin as he lept towards the MTs. The blood red lights that ran through his sword grew brighter as he slashed into their metal frames, sonic energy rending the metal more effectively than the blade alone. Contrary to Nyx’s jab, he did have guns if need be, but this was so much more effective.

And _personal._

He impaled one of the MTs with a ferocious stab. As the MT fell still under the blade, the lights grew brighter still, absorbing the energy from the fallen Imperial soldiers. Some of the MTs had staggered back to their feet. Gladio was all too happy to cut them down, blade whirling in a deadly arc through the MTs. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him harder and faster, his sword cleaving through MTs until none remained. He turned to double back to the rest of the Glaive but stopped when he heard the whine of a dropship overhead.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Gladio said, exasperated.

He lifted his greatsword up with a single arm, a blazing beacon of crimson energy. Gladio thumbed a switch on the sword, took aim, and then depressed a button near its hilt.

A roaring column of concentrated scarlet firepower burst forth from the sword. The first time Gladio had used the secondary ranged function of the sword, the kickback had nearly dislocated his shoulder, but he was prepared for it now. The energy fully discharged, leaving only the obsidian carbonite of the blade behind.

Gladio watched with pleasure as a chain reaction began on the dropship. A series of detonations happened in sequence, gouts of fire and smoke pouring from the dropship. It lost altitude and began to careen wildly—away from the Glaive, thankfully—before crashing some hundreds of meters east. Gladio’s triumph was short lived when two more dropships took the place of the first, hovering in the air as their cargo bay doors opened.

“If anyone has an elemental grenade left, now would be the time to use it,” Gladio said over his comm.

“No elemental grenades, sir, but I do have an EMP charge,” Crowe’s voice crackled in Gladio’s ear.

Gladio shook his head. “No, not yet. We’ll just have to keep holding.”

Gladio didn’t know if he believed in God or gods or any sort of supreme being, but if he did, he was certain they had it out for him today. He watched in muted horror as two more dropships rumbled down to join the first ones, bringing the total to four.

“Fuck it, drop the EMP!” he yelled.

“Activation command, LT?”

“ _Sicut ruber rosis_ ,” Gladio said, leveling Apocalypse and running forward.

MTs began to pour from the hangars of the dropships, a deadly vomit of machinery. Gladio estimated they outnumbered the Glaive Ops at least fifteen to one, if not more—not great odds, especially given they’d sustained losses already. He counted the seconds down in his head until the EMP went off.

There were so _many_. He didn’t bother getting the plasma rifle from his back; the EMP would disable it until the backup power cycle could complete. Gladio tore through MT after MT, pushing through the fatigue that soaked his muscles like a blood through a bandage. The crunching and screeching as Apocalypse carved through the MTs rang in his ears, the soundtrack of carnage.

10, 9, 8….

He saw a Glaive beside him, Pelna, impaled on the wicked twin swords of an MT-AS, the assassin model. Pelna gave one choking, wet cough before his body spasmed and went limp on the blades. Gladio bellowed, a sound laced with deep and wordless fury. He leapt at the MT-AS and split it vertically with his greatsword, the two halves of the unit sparking as they fell to the ground.

7, 6, 5…

Too late. Where was their air support? At this rate, there wouldn’t be any of them left to return to Insomnia. He felt an MT’s blade clatter against a weak point in his armor, worn thin by the bullets and blasts it had absorbed. Gladio growled and destroyed the MT with a swing of Apocalypse, but his motions were growing less controlled. The pain of the wound was buried under Gladio’s pumping adrenaline, but it still hurt enough that he knew he’d need medical attention.

4, 3…

If he made it long enough to get medical attention.

2, 1…

Gladio had never been happier to hear the whine and subsequent resounding hum that came from an activated EMP. The absence of sound that followed reminded Gladio of being outdoors after heavy snowfall; with all the technology temporarily disabled by the pulse, the silence was thick against his senses. MTs, dropships, guns, shields, coms, netlinks… all items on both sides were rendered useless in the blast. They were last resort for that reason—though EMPs rendered basic MTs permanently inert due to their 100% synthetic composition, they negated many of the Glaives’ advantages as well.

The dropships crashed to the ground like four miniature earthquakes, the ground rocking and rumbling under Gladio’s feet. He panted, still holding Apocalypse at the ready, and took stock of their situation. Gladio had far fewer men and women standing now than he had at the beginning of this mission, and though he’d known it had been likely going in, the fact still hit him like a blow.

And that’s when he heard it. That building shriek coming from a pile at his feet. Gladio bent down and frantically dug through broken MT parts. A nauseous wave of dread overtook him as he found what he was looking for—a glowing pink orb, pulsing faster and faster as it emitted that horrible screech.

_Widowmaker._

Gladio’s world narrowed down to a single choice. He had maybe 30, 40 seconds to make it, and he spent 6 of them considering. He’d already lost so many of his unit.

If he stayed, he would lose all of them, and that wasn’t an option.

“RUN!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing in the opposite direction that he had started to run, the Widowmaker clutched to his chest. His soldiers knew how to follow an order, especially one delivered in that tone of voice, and Gladio looked over his shoulder to see black and silver uniforms sprinting away from him.

23 seconds to consider 23 years of life.

Gladio had known, somewhere deep down, that it would come down to this. He’d known it when he enlisted, when he rose through the ranks, and when he’d been offered a place in the prestigious Kingsglaive Spec Ops unit. He didn’t regret his choice. The Lucian Coalition fought for freedom, and King-Elect Regis and his son, Crown Prince Noctis were worthy leaders to die for.

Gladio only wished, with the pleasant vagueness of wishing that it wasn’t raining or that you hadn’t missed that green light, that he’d had a bit more time. Done some things he’d left undone. Said some things he’d left unsaid.

The shriek reached ear-piercing proportions. Gladio dropped the Widowmaker and fell to his knees, blood trickling from his ears and nose. He hoped the rest of the Glaive was out of the blast radius. Out of long habit, he reached for his shield, thumbing the switch that deployed it. 

“ _Pro aris et focis_ ,” Gladio whispered, except he couldn’t hear himself say it.

The last thing Gladio saw was the world being ripped to pieces, washed away in red and white and pain, and then he saw nothing at all.

* * *

“Noctis, we’re running out of time.”

Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum paced back in forth in front of his father’s hologram, boots clanking against the metal floors. He ran a hand along the back of his shaved head, feeling the soft growth under his fingers, his new nervous tic. His father had wanted him to shave all of it, but he’d kept it long at the top. Couldn’t budge on everything.

“I’m well aware, trust me. I only hear it every day from you and Ignis both,” Noctis snapped.

“You should be hearing it from Mr. Argentum as well,” Regis said, digital brow furrowing into a frown.

“Prom knows better than anyone what we’re getting into. Can’t blame him if he isn’t eager to go back,” Noctis said.

“You know my feelings about taking Mr. Argentum on this mission. You’ve dug your heels in, but I won’t pretend to be pleased about it,” Regis said.

“And you know my reasons for taking him, so let’s not go back over old ground, Dad,” Noctis replied.

The projection representing Regis heaved a visible sigh. “The Planetary Defense Shield won’t hold much longer. The Empire continues to target our most vulnerable points. Without LUNAFREYA—or more specifically, without the plans for the Astral Covenant that she possesses in her encrypted memory banks—Insomnia will fall. And if Insomnia falls, every other planet under our protection will fall as well.”

“I know,” Noctis hissed, folding his arms across his chest. The magenta ring around his twilight blue eyes began to emit a soft glow. “I just… I have a hunch about this.”

“Why won’t you take Nyx? He’s a skilled fighter and one of the only soldiers aside from yourself to master quantum phasing, and every psychoanalysis we’ve conducted suggests he’d be able to cope with the demands of the mission.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said before. But I’ve talked to a lot of his superiors and subordinates. He might be good with stress, but they all agree he’d bad at taking orders under that stress. Better on his own now, after Lieutenant Amicitia…” Noctis trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Take Cor, then, or Clarus,” Regis offered, spreading his hands magnanimously.

“No, even worse. You need them. I’m not going to take your best bodyguards on what is probably a suicide mission for them. Probably for me, too, if we’re honest.”

“Noctis, it’s not—”

“No, Dad, don’t,” Noctis interrupted, holding up a hand. “Please. It’s not like I’m going to try and get myself killed, but we have to be realistic about this.” Noctis paused and changed the subject. “How about the Regalia?”

Regis gave an indulgent smile. “You’ll be happy to know that the L.C. Regalia is fully upgraded and operational. Ignis remoted in for a systems check and reported that he’s interfacing with the Regalia’s control module at optimum efficiency, so you have a damn good pilot for it too.”

“The weapons?”

“Modest, but functional. The defensive capabilities of the Regalia are much better than her offensive ones. As long as you don’t stay long in a fight, you should be fine.”

Noctis allowed himself a small smile. He was about to ask about the day’s extrastellar reports when he heard a smooth, accented voice speak. The voice was internal, as intimate as his own thoughts, but Noctis had long gotten used to the sensation.

{My apologies for the interruption, Your Highness. May I have a moment of your time?}

“Sure,” Noctis said aloud, tilting his head a fraction to the side. “Go ahead, Ignis.”

{I’m pleased to report that Lieutenant Gladiolus Amicitia has regained consciousness. Should I determine his condition to be sufficient for conversation, am I to proceed with the previously established plan?}

Noctis’s smile widened. “Absolutely.”

* * *

If this was heaven, Gladio thought, God had a lot of explaining to do. It had a few things going for it: there was a lot of white, it had a decent view of the sunset, and there was a _smoking hot man_ sitting next to him pretty much every time he looked. He went both ways so, hey, he’d take what he could get.

He was also in the worst pain he’d ever been in in his entire life. Agony, misery, torment, ache, discomfort… it was every word he could think of for pain and more, seeped into his muscles and bones and skin and teeth and skull. Gladio groaned, then immediately regretted the action; even his vocal cords hurt.

Given this information, Gladio presumed that somehow, he was alive—when he really should be dead.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some drugs around here?” he slurred, voice raspy with disuse. A dry chuckle came from beside him.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Amicitia,” Painfully Attractive Man said. Gladio was thankful his head was already turned towards his companion because he didn’t think he could manage it on his own.

“Hey,” Gladio said. “Don’t suppose you happen to know why it feels like I’ve been dragged through the seven hells and back. Or how I could get some painkillers. Fuck, even some water would do.”

“Would you like the exhaustive answers or the short form?” the man asked, resting his chin on a fist as he leaned in towards Gladio. He had the greenest eyes Gladio had ever seen, but the sterility of the room might have contributed to his impression. A slim, transparent visor rested over the other man’s eyes, and Gladio could see items scrolling down the screen even as they spoke.

Wait, no. The electronic noise wasn’t scrolling down the visor. It was filtering across the man’s actual eyes?

Gladio _seriously_ needed more or less drugs, and he wasn’t quite sure which yet.

“Let’s start with exhaustive and see how long I last. Also, your name might be good,” Gladio said, licking dry lips with an equally dry tongue.

“Operative Ignis Scientia, Royal Intelligence Advisor, at your service,” the man said. Ignis.

“Holy shit,” Gladio’s body wanted to inhale with his shock, but his lungs protested with a scream of pain, so the words came out in a wheeze. “I’ve only seen you in stills from vidfeeds on the net.”

“His Majesty and His Highness feel I do my best work when out of the public eye. Covert arts and the like,” Ignis replied, lips twisting into a wry grin.

“So why are you here with me?” Gladio asked.

“I’ll be frank, Lieutenant Amicitia. While I’m here out of genuine concern for your welfare, I’m also here to monitor you as a potential investment of the Lucian Coalition.”

Ignis’s words slid around Gladio’s mind in slippery circles. “Sorry, what?”

“You were dead, Gladiolus. To be specific, you were dead and you’ve died 13 more times over the past four months—if we count the cessation of cardiac and pulmonary functions as dying.”

“Fuck,” Gladio whispered.

“Indeed,” Ignis replied, steepling his long fingers in front of him. Gladio’s eyes were drawn to the styled spike of ash-blonde hair that rose above Ignis’s hairline. “A choice was made. Your personnel and medical records were reviewed as well as your service history. Your preferences flagged your body for donation to medical sciences in the event of your death.”

An icy drip of fear trickled down Gladio’s spine underneath the myriad layers of pain.

“And you experimented,” Gladio said. This time, it wasn’t a question.

“To a degree, yes. Nothing illegal or immoral. Every operation performed was well within the legal guidelines established by the Artificial Augmentation of Life Act.”

The word _artificial_ pinged around in Gladio’s skull. Artificial. Not human. Inorganic. Synthetic.

“How _much_ experimentation? And why me?” Gladio growled. His body moved involuntarily, straining to sit up, but a wave of pain ended the action before it could begin.

“To answer the first question, a considerable amount. Enough that we were legally required to update your lifeform designation from ‘human’ to ‘cyborg.’”

Gladio felt sick. He felt like he might vomit. No, no, that wasn’t a feeling. He was actually going to vomit.

Ignis, to his credit, held up a metal container for Gladio to retch into. As Gladio heaved up the meager contents of his stomach, he wondered if this had happened before and he didn’t remember. Waves of agony accompanied each spasm of his stomach until it finally subsided. Gladio collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted beyond words with the sting of vomit in his nostrils.

“You won’t be able to move your arms yet. Let me assist,” Ignis said. Gladio felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as Ignis set aside the metal container for retrieval. He then fetched a warm, damp cloth and wiped Gladio’s face clean. “We can continue this conversation at a later time if you prefer.”

“Hell no,” Gladio said, more gruff than he meant. “Finish answering my questions.”

“Most of your skeleton had breaks or fractures from the Widowmaker’s explosion. Subsequently, the entire system was reinforced with nanocarbonite mesh. It would take an incredibly significant force to break any of your bones at this juncture.”

“What else?” Gladio pressed, still reeling with nausea and pain.

“Your shield absorbed some of the impact but… your upper half was…” Ignis paused thoughtfully. “I’m unsure there’s a singular word that wouldn’t be offensive to you. Your upper body sustained severe damage. In order to repair the musculature of your back and arms, a combination of artificial growth accelerants and additional nanocarbonite was utilized.”

“In Lucian, Ignis,” Gladio said.

“Your back and arms bear external evidence of the augmentations performed. An attempt was made to make them as pleasant looking as possible, but their nature is obvious. Also, you should see a considerable increase in your upper body strength once you have healed completely,” Ignis said.

“Did I keep my face, at least?” Gladio asked, bitterness tinging his voice. Ignis gave Gladio a rueful smile.

“The cosmetic repairs were the easiest. Rest assured, you don’t resemble a robot or an MT. The only difference is the visible augmentation along your back and arms, as I mentioned.”

Gladio focused on his breathing, taking as deep of breaths as his body would allow without excruciating pain. It was… a lot to take in.

But he was alive.

“Thank you, Ignis,” Gladio said, meeting Ignis’s deep green gaze. Ignis nodded.

“Please accept my apologies for any trauma or discomfort this has caused, but you indicated you wished to know the entirety of the situation,” Ignis said, mouth and eyes downcast in genuine sorrow.

“I did. That does leave me with one question, though. Why me?”

Ignis’s lips curved up in a small smile. “Your service history has been nothing short of exemplary. You gave your life to protect the remaining members of your squad; this degree of bravery is rare, even among special operatives. This combined with the fact that your explicit permission had been granted for medical research made you an ideal candidate.”

Gladio frowned. “You mentioned that I was a…” Gladio searched through his foggy mind for the words, “A potential investment of the Lucian Coalition. What does that mean?”

Ignis leaned back in his chair, tapping a gloved finger against his lips. “It means that Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum has requested your presence on a dangerous, classified mission in the near future… pending your complete recovery, of course.”

“Is this a choice or a _choice_?” Gladio asked. He couldn’t raise his arms to do the air quotes that he wanted, but Ignis seemed to catch his meaning.

“You have done much and more for the Coalition, Gladiolus. We would not force you into further service if you did not wish it, though you are most welcome to return.”

Gladio’s head spun. He’d gone from thinking he was dead to learning he was part artificial to being asked on a top secret mission in the span of thirty minutes.

“What’s involved in this mission? Yeah, I know you said it was classified, but if you could spare any detail…” Gladio asked.

“Escorting the Crown Prince to retrieve an object in enemy territory. That is the most I’m permitted to say on the matter,” Ignis said, regret in his voice.

Gladio closed his eyes. Who could have expected any of this? Not him, that’s for damn sure.

“Thanks for everything, Ignis. I’ll think about it”

Ignis nodded and stood from his chair, regarding Gladio with a searching gaze.

“Absolutely. You need but alert any of the medical staff when you have your answer and they will notify me. Of course, if you have further questions or require anything of me, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

A date would be nice, Gladio thought. He actually laughed at the thought, which caused agony to ripple along his body in creative patterns.

“Will do,” Gladio said. Ignis started towards the door, preparing to leave. Another thought occurred to Gladio.

“Wait. Ignis.”

Ignis stopped and turned, all elegant and precise and Gods above, Gladio needed drugs because pain was making him stupid and delirious.

“Will there be a ship?” Gladio asked.

Ignis gave a quirked smile, one corner of his mouth curved upwards. “One of the very best, state of the art ships.”

Gladio had always wanted to travel on a really, _really_ swanky spaceship, not the functional but boring clunkers of the Lucian Coalition’s military. He had one more question.

“Will _you_ be on this top secret mission?”

Ignis’s smile became a smirk. “Of course.”

Well, Gladio thought, he’d already died once. No, 14 times. What was one more? He was a soldier, through and through. And if Ignis would be along for the ride, then…

“Fuck it,” Gladio said. “Count me in.”


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio begins to feel simultaneously more and less human. Ignis helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely and amazing [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna). If you want more Gladnis, please go check her out!

Much to no one’s surprise, least of all Gladio’s, agreeing to be part of a top secret mission did not mean an automatic and miraculous recovery from the brink of death.

In fact, the weeks following his acceptance of Ignis’s offer were some of the worst on record for Gladio.  Once the doctors were sure (mostly sure, anyway) that he wasn’t going to kick the bucket on them, he was weaned off the near-toxic levels of painkillers and immunosuppressants as his body adjusted to the new hardware.

Every time Gladio saw one of the medics come in and fiddle with the damn panel on the wall, the one that controlled his 2,000 IVs and pumps, he knew he was in for a rough couple of days.  Sweats, night terrors, agony, and a general feeling that he didn’t belong in his own skin accompanied each change in medication.  Regardless of his personal opinion of the crap they were putting his new body through, the staff were professional and courteous.  Ignis had mentioned that he was being ‘treated’—could you call it treated if you fucking died and got brought back to life, Gladio wondered—at the bioengineering wing of the Lucis Caelum Medical Facility located in Insomnia.

Gladio checked one of the labels from his discarded medication containers to confirm, just in case.  He wasn’t usually paranoid, but in this particular case, he made an exception.

Sleeping became Gladio’s favourite pastime.  When he could sleep, that is.  He couldn’t decide what was better about it—the relief from boredom or the relief from pain.  Sure, he had a luxurious, diamond-clear projection screen in his room that looked like it would cost him a month’s pay, but he’d never been much of a vid guy anyway.

When he couldn’t sleep, that’s when he started to notice a bunch of new, _weird_ shit.

One night, Gladio was leaning back in bed and torturing himself further by watching a live news feed on the room’s fancy screen.  He’d be hoping to get some kind of idea about how the war was progressing, but as usual the news feeds were scrubbed clean of anything relevant.  Better for the public and all that.  No one wanted to be reminded they were on the losing side of an intergalactic war.

At least he could sit up to watch it now, which was an improvement.  Gladio was still covered in strange, gelatinous, and opaque bandages along his back and arms.  Just _thinking_ about moving hurt like hell, and no one had given him access to a mirror yet which was making him real fucking nervous, but he could sit up.

So, that was _something_.

The point being, once he gave up and banished the bright lights of the vid feed into the ether, Gladio heard… voices?  That couldn’t be right.  Now that the screen had fallen silent, there shouldn’t be any noise beyond the beeps and trills of his monitoring equipment.  Gladio scrunched his brow into a frown as he concentrated.  Yup, those were definitely faint voices.

“... any plans for tonight? You’re off rotation for the weekend, right?”

“Yeah, thank the Gods for that.  Feels like I haven’t seen my husband…”

Gladio’s heart thundered like a volley of bombs in his chest.  After a vile night terror where Gladio woke up screaming bloody murder—feeling guilty and embarrassed that it had even happened at all—one of the medics reassured him that the rooms were soundproof.  There was no way he should be able to hear anything.

A quick glance at the doors to his room shed some light on the situation.  The automatic doors were stuck open.  The last medic to make their rounds must have left without noticing the jam.  Still… Gladio had been dragged out of his room to be shoved in a variety of machines and submitted to a battery of tests.  His room was at the dead end of the sterile hallway, far away from any voices to be heard.  Unless…

The medic’s station.  But that was... shit... way _way_ further than any human should be able to hear.

“You could always ask him out, you know? The worst he could say is no…”

Except he wasn’t human.  Not anymore.  Gladio struggled to listen over the sound of his own pulse.

“.... Scientia… works for the… no time for dating, I’d imagine…”

Scientia? They were talking about Ignis?  Gladio willed his heart to slow.

“Actually, yeah, you’re probably right.  He’s stunning, but he’s all business when he’s here.  Straight to 8A, straight back.  Maybe a detour to speak with Dr. Yeager.”  The woman’s voice, older than the other, sounded resigned.

8A.  Dr. Yeager.  Now they were talking about him.  That was his room number, his doctor’s name.  He felt a strange sense of jealousy beating at the edges of his shock as they admired Ignis, but Gladio steadied himself with a deep breath.  He had no claim to Ignis.  Hell, he was probably just an obligation for the guy anyway.  Protecting his investment.  Whatever.

The voices floated to Gladio unbidden.

“The project they have planned for 8A… it’s big.  Top secret, no one will budge on it, but the amount of credits funneled into 8A alone…”

Anger simmered up to meet the shock, scrubbing it away.

Gladio had a fucking _name_.

He wasn’t some Niff piece of machinery or clone, produced in some lab or vat to take the lives of good Lucian citizens.

Gladio had been _born_.  He’d had a mother.  He had a father, a sister.  He’d never fucking asked to be blown up and have his pieces collected and put back together by all the king’s men like some sort of sick parody of a nursery rhyme, he’d never asked to have strangers talking about him like he was a _thing_ instead of a person and…

Gladio’s thoughts decelerated like a shuttle with the emergency brakes engaged when he realized alarms were blaring around him.  He found himself bolt upright in his bed, breathing hard, monitors shrilling.  A medic bustled into the room and turned the lights on, bathing the room in harsh fluorescent light.

“Mr. Amicitia, is everything alright?” the woman asked, eyes darting rapidly over the information on the screens beside him.

No, no, everything was _not_ alright.  Gladio was exhausted from pain, tired of feeling like he was disconnected from his own body, weary of the infinite tangle of IVs like plastic umbilical cords attached to his treacherous, artificial body.  Gladio either wanted to be recovered or go back to being dead, and right now he couldn’t decide which was more appealing.

“I’m fine,” Gladio said.  He laid back against his bed, counting the seconds between each of his breaths in an effort to quiet the alarms.  It seemed to work.

The medic hummed thoughtfully as she checked his treatment log.  “Are you having trouble sleeping? Nightmares again?  Looks like there’s still an allotment for a sedative if you need it.”

“Please,” Gladio said.  He watched as the medic adjusted the panel on the wall that controlled his medication, fighting down the nauseating dread that rose in him at the sight.  It wasn’t _that_ kind of adjustment, he reminded himself.  Just some help to sleep.

“You should feel the effects momentarily.  Anything else?” the medic asked.

“Yeah, uh, could you be sure to shut the door behind you?  Last person left it open,” Gladio asked.

“Absolutely.”

By the time the medic left, Gladio’s eyes were already shut.  The drug pulled him under into the blissful nothing of unconsciousness.

* * *

Gladio improved rapidly over the next week, spurred on by the same frustration that had presumably allowed him to survive his augmentation in the first place.

He’d improved so much, in fact, that he was taking his first unassisted piss since he’d regained consciousness.  Gladio was used to celebrating slightly larger accomplishments—wiping out entire platoons of MTs single-handedly, or gunning down Niff fighters with deadly precision—but at this point, he’d take what he could get.

“ _Fuck_ yeah!” he cried over the automatic flush of the toilet, pumping a bandaged fist in triumph, “My dick still works!”  He teetered for a moment, gripping the pole that held his medications for support, before shuffling over to the sink to wash his hands.

Then he heard a voice speak outside his washroom door.

“Gladiolus?” Ignis asked from the other side, amusement laced through his questioning tone.  “Do you require assistance?”

Gladio still didn’t have access to a mirror, but his face was hot enough for him to know he was blushing.  Not for the first time, and probably not for the last time, Gladio wished for a precision orbital strike to come down from the sky and disintegrate him.

“Uh.  Yeah, I’m good.  One sec,” Gladio said.  He pushed a button that made the washroom door open.

Ignis stood a few feet back, a tiny yet entertained smile on his lips.  He was wearing a suit Gladio hadn’t seen before—royal black, as always, but embellished with silver embroidery on the lapels and cuffs of the jacket.  Ignis looked even better than usual, a fact that made Gladio hyper-aware of the fact he was limping around in little more than a starched white sheet.  And the fact that’d he just yelled an incriminating statement about his dick.

And the fact that he was abnormally fucking glad to see Ignis, especially once he noticed what Ignis held in each hand.  Gladio’s mouth started to water.

“Dear God, I can smell the MSG from here,” Gladio said, eyeing the cups of instant noodles with an emotion akin to lust.  “How did you know those were my favourite?  How did you get them past Dr. Yeager?”  Gladio’s diet, once he could eat solid food again, had consisted of bland but balanced meals—or worse, nutrient paste.

“It’s my job to know everything, Gladiolus,” Ignis replied with a wink behind his visor, inclining his head towards the modest table in Gladio’s room, “Dr. Yeager and I felt your newfound mobility was worth celebrating.”

“I think I should be creeped out by that, but I’m too distracted by the noodles to care,” Gladio admitted.

“Perhaps it’s all part of my master plan,” Ignis said.  He crossed the distance to the table in a few steps, setting a cup in front of each chair before settling himself.  Gladio caught a glimpse of Ignis’s jacket; a silver rendition of the Lucian Coalition’s emblem decorated the back of it.

“Again, I’m not sure that’s helping,” Gladio said with a grin.  It took him much longer to make his way to his chair, but make it he did, settling into it with a groan as his muscles protested.  “Been a while since I’ve seen you here.”

Ignis’s eyebrows gave an infinitesimal twitch that Gladio couldn’t read.  “My apologies, Gladiolus.  As you may suspect, the war continues to encroach upon us on all sides, and there’s no shortage of tasks to accomplish.  Rest assured, you are one of my top priorities, and I have been remiss in allowing this much time to pass without a visit.”

Gladio busied himself plying his noodles with the pair of chopsticks provided, flexing his hands against the bandages that covered the tops of his fingers.  God, maybe it was the months without much human contact, but Ignis’s admission set his heart thumping in his chest.

Gladio needed to get a hold of himself.

“So these are… what, guilt noodles, then?” Gladio asked, smirking around a mouthful of delicious carbs.  Ignis placed two fingers on either side of his visor and adjusted it.

“Nonsense.  As I said, they’re a celebration of an important milestone in your recovery,” Ignis said, but he looked off to the side as he said it, exposing his chiseled profile to Gladio.

“ _Guilt_ noodles,” Gladio repeated.  He was rewarded with the barest hint of a flush under those high cheekbones.

“Your psychological profile did mention your relentless nature, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be directed at me quite so quickly,” Ignis said, finally beginning to eat his own meal.

“If you think that’s relentless, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Gladio said.

Ignis made eye contact with him, one eyebrow raised over a rich green eye.  “I’m counting on it.”

Gladio’s temperature fluctuated in a wild swing, sweat beading on his skin.  No one should be allowed to have a voice that expressive.  He was on less drugs now than ever, but they were _not_ flirting, no matter what he thought.  Besides, no matter how attractive Gladio found Ignis, there was a long list of reasons they could never get involved, the biggest one being that fraternization was a Bad Idea.  A Very Bad Idea, capital letters.  AVBI.

Gladio looked away first and changed the subject.  “Hey, so, Ignis.  I haven’t seen Dr. Yeager yet to ask, but did my hearing get upgraded too?  I had a helluva weird experience the other night and wanted to make sure I’m not imagining stuff.”

Ignis held up a finger as he finished chewing, dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin, then spoke.  “The Widowmaker rendered you deaf.  When your hearing was restored, it was augmented as well.  Has it been causing you difficulty?”

Gladio lifted a shoulder in a shrug, wincing as his back muscles protested.  “Not really?  I’m used to the noises in here, but sometimes it’s distracting when I’m out and about in the facility.”

“Your brain should get better at prioritizing what’s important and what’s irrelevant as time goes on.  Your focus also plays a key role.  The more you focus on a sound, the more tightly your hearing will zero in on that sound.”

“Nice,” Gladio said, unsure if he meant it or not.

They finished eating in silence.  Gladio could eat about ten more cups if he could get his hands on them, but even the one was amazing.  His thoughts went back to Ignis’s knowledge of his favourite meal.

“You know everything about me… but I don’t know anything about you,” Gladio said, fixing Ignis with a thoughtful look.

Ignis folded his arms across his chest, tucking his gloved hands away.  “What do you wish to know, Gladiolus?  As long as it’s not classified, I’m pleased to answer any questions you have.”

“Gladio.  You can call me Gladio.  Gladiolus is for my Captain. Or my dad, when he’s pissed off,” Gladio corrected.

“Of course.  Then, Gladio, what do you wish to know?” Ignis repeated the question, studying Gladio in turn.

Gladio considered.  “Okay, this is an easy one.  How old are you?”

“I’m twenty two years of age.”

Before he could stop it, Gladio’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ignis.  “You’re… _younger_ than me?”

There was a glitter in Ignis’s eyes that Gladio would call mischievous in anyone except the reserved Operative.  “What?  Were you expecting me to be much older?”  Ignis paused, then added in a perfectly dry tone, “Do you prefer the company of older men?”

Gladio inhaled sharply, causing him to choke on his own spit.  He should be annoyed, especially since the coughing sent spasms of pain through him, but he couldn’t find the heart.

“Okay, _now_ you’re fucking with me,” Gladio said once he had enough air to speak. “I deserved it after the noodles jab, I guess.”

 Ignis covered the lower half of his face with a gloved hand, but not before Gladio saw his grin.  “Indeed.  However, I apologize, Gladio.  That was crass of me.”

“They cover that in my psych eval too?” Gladio asked.  When Ignis arched an eyebrow that asked _do you really want to know,_ Gladio shook his head.  “You know what, never mind.  Better to let me pretend there’s any kind of mystery left whatsoever.  So what’s the short version of your story?”

“I was raised alongside Prince Noctis from a young age.  When it was discovered that I possessed genius level intelligence, I began to receive training and education in a wide variety of subjects.  Currently, I serve in a supportive capacity to His Majesty and His Highness.”

Gladio grimaced.  “That’s the most boring biography ever.  I could find that myself if I searched the Net.  If I had a comm to search the Net.”

Ignis pursed his lips.  “What, in your estimation, would be interesting?”

“You’re the one who’s read my psych eval cover to cover. You tell me,” Gladio said, jutting out his chin.

Ignis considered, cupping the side of his face and tapping a finger against his cheek.  He muttered something that would be sub-audible to most, but Gladio caught a few of the words— _shouldn’t set off the alarms._

Ignis waved a hand above his head.  As he did, an arc consisting of multiple crystalline daggers appeared like a grim halo.  Ignis stood and, with a grace that reminded Gladio of a ballet dancer, began to flow into warm-up stances Gladio recognized from Glaive training.  As Ignis moved, the daggers moved with him, swirling around his body and between his limbs, never so much as cutting a single thread of his suit.  They were like feathers, or snowflakes, or shit, Gladio didn’t know, but he was intrigued.

Ignis brought his hands together and the blue-white daggers all shot together, coalescing into a long beam of light.  The light solidified into some sort of polearm, which Ignis took in both hands and spun in a fast circle in front him.  He began to weave the polearm back and forth in front of and behind him, each rotation a controlled circle.  After a few passes of this, Ignis threw the polearm up in the air.

Gladio jerked forward in his seat, a hand extended—his room didn’t have high ceilings.  But before the polearm even got halfway up, it disappeared in a flash of sparkling blue crystals.

Gladio stared, mute.  And hey, look at that.  His dick worked in _other_ ways, too.  God, Astrals, unknown extraterrestrial life forms help him, that display had been the nail in the coffin that was his ability to deny his attraction to one Operative Ignis Scientia.  Gladio shifted to make sure his lap was fully under the table.

“Please, please, _please_ tell me I’m going to get access to shit like that once I’m ready to go.  I’ll probably cry if you say no.  I mean, I can _definitely_ cry if you say no if it means the answer would change to a yes,” Gladio said, eyes locked on Ignis.

Ignis’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.  “One step at a time, Gladio.  One step at a time.”

* * *

After Ignis’s visit, Gladio threw himself into recovering as fast as possible.

He did all of his assigned exercises, forced himself to walk around as much as possible, and ate every last scrap of the disgusting supplement paste when it was given to him.  It was easier to shove aside his more intrusive thoughts—How was his dad? His sister? Nyx? Crowe? The rest of his old squad? Why hadn’t they been able to see him? What would they think when he did?—when he focused on the end goal, so focus he did.

His hard work earned him a date that the last of his dressings would be removed.  He’d finally see what he, Gladio (not 8A, thank you very much), looked like now.

Thankfully, Gladio didn’t have to wait long when the day came.  Dr. Yeager slid through the doors of his room at exactly 08:00 sharp, an eager smile on her face.

“Good morning, Gladio,” Dr. Yeager called, holding a small device that Gladio didn’t recognize in one of her brown hands.

“Morning, doc,” Gladio said.  He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to fend off his sudden bout of nerves.

“Excited? This is a pretty big deal,” Dr. Yeager asked, surveying the readouts from the monitoring equipment in the room.  Gladio was finally 100% free of any IVs and was taking the last of his medication orally.  The first time he’d put on track pants after so long wearing nothing but an assless hospital gown was an out-of-body experience.

“Excited. Nervous. Scared.  All of ‘em are fighting in my head, and don’t ask me to say which one’s winning,” Gladio admitted.  He leaned to see if anyone had followed the doctor in, but it was just her.

“All normal reactions.  Do you have any questions or concerns before we proceed?” Dr. Yeager asked.

God, asking made him feel like a high schooler again, but he felt like he needed to ask anyway.

“Um, doc? Any chance Ignis is on the way? He mentioned he was gonna be here for this, and I don’t have my comm back yet to message him myself,” Gladio asked, examining the white and gold tile of the floor.

Dr. Yeager looked thoughtful.  “Now that you bring it up, Operative Scientia _did_ indicate he would be present for this.  Let me check.”  She pulled out a comm from one of the pockets in her white coat, tapping a couple times on its razor thin surface.  Her smile faltered as her eyes went across the screen.  “Ignis sends his apologies to both of us, but he’s occupied with business at the Citadel for the remainder of the day.  Would you like to wait?”

Gladio hesitated.  On one hand, yeah, he wanted to wait.  He couldn’t put his finger on why, but the idea of Ignis being on hand made him feel a lot less nervous.  On the other hand, he’d been busting his ass to get to this point, and delaying it seemed stupid.

“Nah, I’m good.  Let’s get this shit off.”

Dr. Yeager gave an encouraging smile.  “As always, I’m both unsurprised and impressed at your resilience.  We’ll get the plastid off, then we’ll let you get acquainted visually with your new augmentation, then I’ll go over the basics about its calibration and maintenance.  Sound good?”

Inhale, exhale.  “Yeah.”

There was the snap of latex gloves and then a hum.  Gladio tried not to focus on the sound of the laser that Dr. Yeager brought to life in her hands, but it buzzed around his head like a pissed off hornet.  It didn’t _hurt_ as she carved away the opaque plastid of his dressings, but it felt uncomfortable, like when you wore a pair of shades that didn’t sit right and it irritated the space between your eyes.

She started with his back first, cutting off the dressings and peeling them away with gloved hands.  As soon as his back was exposed to air, Gladio noticed that it seemed less sensitive.  He only felt the peeling of the plastid and the brush of Dr. Yeager’s fingers in certain places.

When she started on his arms, Gladio closed his eyes.  He decided to take the advice of his royally mandated psychiatrist for a change and try to focus on anything other than what was happening right now.  He thought of the nights his mother would recite poetry to him, of Iris’s smile, of rowdy nights out with the Glaive when they were on leave.  The laser crept up right next to Gladio’s ear and he had to hold his breath for several seconds.

Gladio thought of Ignis, of those striking eyes and wry smile, because his newly-wired brain was a stupid son of bitch that didn’t know what was good for it—but it made him feel better all the same.  He felt tacky all over, and with the plastid off, the nanocarbonite augmentations were more obvious than ever.  The sensation was like the unfamiliarity when you started to wear a new ring or shoes—every motion Gladio took, he could feel the metal in and on his skin.

“You can open your eyes when you’re ready,” Dr. Yeager prompted.

“There a mirror handy?” Gladio asked. “I’d rather get this over with in one shot.”

“One of the medics brought one in while I was removing your dressings,” Dr. Yeager replied.

Huh.  Gladio hadn’t even heard them come in.  Guess he had been really dialed into, well, anywhere but this room.  He opened his eyes and found a full length mirror positioned in front of him.

 _Shit_.

His hair was gone—that much he’d known already from touch.  Nothing left but the dark brown stubble of a buzzcut.  They hadn’t been lying, though.  His face was mostly the same as he remembered it, as much as anyone remembered what their own face looked like without a comparison, with one key difference.

“Hey, where’s my scar?” Gladio asked in a mildly affronted tone, pointing to his left eye.  

The act of pointing drew his attention to his hand and, _holy shit_ , the black veins of nanocarbonite spiderwebbed across the back of his hand right up to his fingernails.  He made a fist, opened it again, watching the metal flow seamlessly along with his joints.

“We weren’t certain if you’d want to keep it or not,” Dr. Yeager explained, watching Gladio carefully. “The decision was made to repair it.”

Gladio snorted—of course they got rid of the one legit scar he had—and turned his attention back to the mirror.  His arms were… Gladio fumbled to make sense of it in his mind.  More black nanocarbonite encircled them from his wrists all the way up to his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

Ignis had mentioned they tried to make all the augments look as pleasant as possible, and Gladio begrudgingly admitted to himself that it did look pretty fuckin’ badass.  He twisted and turned an arm, studying the shift of the feather-like patterns of metal around his skin.  Gladio could see his skin between the elliptical connections, paler than normal but natural.  When he craned his head to get a better look, Gladio caught the curl of metal up his neck and behind both of his ears.

“Did you need to keep my head attached or something?” Gladio asked, striving for politeness and mostly hitting the mark.

“Actually…” Dr. Yeager began, but Gladio held up a hand to stop her.

“You know, never mind.  Probably better if I don’t know the details.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

Gladio turned and craned his head over his shoulder to examine his back in the mirror and… yeah.  That was something.  His entire back was covered in the same nanocarbonite in a tight web.  Barely any of his skin was exposed.  Maybe there hadn’t been enough skin left _to_ expose.  He flexed and twisted, watching as the metal embedded in his flesh rippled with his movements.

“Well.  Thanks for letting me keep my handsome face, I guess,” Gladio said, unsure of what else to say.  He didn’t know if the change had hit home yet.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Yeager asked in a neutral tone.

“How am I feeling?  God and Gods, I have no clue.  I dunno, I mean... I’m still me, but not the me I’m used to.  I guess it’s better than I expected,” Gladio said.

“Again, all of that’s completely normal.  Do you have any questions?  Any thoughts?”

“You brought up in our last appointment that I got a neurolink too?  To connect to this shit?” Gladio asked, holding up his arms.

Dr. Yeager nodded.  “The neurolink was one of the easier parts.  Lots of people are choosing to be augmented with them.  I believe Ignis has one as well.  It’ll allow you to run self-diagnostics on your augments, among other things.  Are you familiar with the process?”

“No offense, doc, but about the only self-diagnostic I’ve ever run is sticking a thermometer under my tongue,” Gladio admitted.

“It’s fairly straightforward,” Dr. Yeager said, handing him a small device that looked similar to a comm.  “What do you say we power up the system and give it a try?”

“Power up this,” Gladio asked, waving the device, “Or me?”

Dr. Yeager’s grin held a touch of mad scientist that made Gladio wary. “Both.”

“Do what you gotta do,” Gladio replied.

“I’ll explain the sequence and provide written instructions, but for now…” Dr. Yeager reached over and input a quick series of commands on the device Gladio held.  “Ready?”

“Punch it.”

As soon as Dr. Yeager pressed the last button, a spasm wrenched Gladio’s upper half.  A hum started in the back of his skull, an itch he couldn’t scratch, and all of his augments felt like they were charged with static electricity.  Gladio’s arms and back twisted in several more involuntary spasms, pain lighting up every single one of his nerves, before finally settling.  The hum in his skull was still there, but fading as the minutes went by.

Gladio looked down at his hand and saw he’d crushed the device he’d held into smithereens.

“What. The _fuck_. Was that?” Gladio asked.  

Dr. Yeager’s grin was positively childlike with glee, which Gladio didn’t deem quite professional but wouldn’t complain about.  She pulled a duplicate of the device and proceeded to input another string of commands.

“That, Gladio,” Dr. Yeager said, “Was a fraction of the increased strength we spoke of.  The spasms are a natural reaction as your augments begin to communicate with your nervous system.  I don’t want to mislead you—it could get challenging in the next few days as we work through your initial calibration.  But once we do...”

Gladio stared down at the smashed mix of white and silver components in his hand.

“ _Holy shit._ ”

“That’s an accurate summarization.”

* * *

Once he’d been powered on, as Dr. Yeager put it, Gladio was finally moved to a rehabilitation room instead of the medical suite he’d been in.  There wasn’t much difference, really, aside from walls with colour, a kitchenette, and a lot less machinery.

Dr. Yeager hadn’t been lying when she said getting the ball rolling would be a pain in the ass.  Sleeping was almost as much of a pain as it had been when he was on death’s door; Gladio suffered from random and violent contractions of his muscles when they didn’t want to play nice with his new hardware.  Gladio was hopeful, though, because they were getting less and less frequent after just two days.

He also kept breaking random objects in his room, much to the frustration of the rehab centre staff.  Gladio’s personal favourite was when he’d jammed the automatic doors to his room open on accident, then ripped them off the track when he tried to realign them.

Gladio wasn’t _trying_ to break shit.  Honestly.

In the most exciting development, Gladio had gotten travel _and_ workout privileges with Dr. Yeager’s clearance.  As soon as he heard, he went out, fixed his scar problem, and came back with as many instant noodle packages as he could carry.  Still no comm, which was starting to irritate Gladio, but he’d been promised it was coming soon.

And now Ignis was coming to see him.

Gladio paced back and forth across the room, scratching idly at his stomach beneath his singlet.  He didn’t know why he was so goddamn nervous.  Ignis had seen Gladio when he was still wrapped and strapped to the bed and puking his guts out, had probably seen him when his body was deciding if it was gonna stick around at all, so seeing him now should be no big deal.

When the gentle chime rang to announce a visitor, Gladio knew it was Ignis and still jumped out of his skin.  He crossed the distance to his door and _carefully_ pushed the button to slide them open (he’d broken that, too, the day he was moved to rehab).

A hum began at the back of his skull that had nothing to do with his augments as the doors opened to reveal Ignis.

Ignis kept his feet planted outside the doors.  His manicured eyebrows lifted up over his visor, lips parted slightly, the most expressive Gladio had seen him.

“Hey, Ignis,” Gladio said, rubbing the metal at the back of his neck and feeling more awkward by the second.

“Hello, Gladio,” Ignis replied.  As though remembering his manners, Ignis stepped inside and let the doors close behind him, but his emerald eyes never left Gladio.

Gladio knew he was just interested because of how many resources and credits the Lucian Coalition had sank into him for this mission.  Ignis’s job was to make sure their investment gave them a solid return, and it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be in good enough shape to go on the mission he’d agreed to.

But it was nice to pretend it was because of Gladio himself.

“Not bad, huh?” Gladio asked, gesturing to himself in an echo of his old confidence.  “I’d shake your hand, but I’d probably break your arm by accident with how this calibration is going.”

“I appreciate your consideration for my safety,” Ignis said.  His eyes met Gladio’s.  “You look astounding.  How do you feel?”  Ignis walked towards Gladio, crossing the distance between them.

“Good.  Better than I thought, really.  I’ll be best when I’m back in the action.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Ignis said.  He reached a gloved hand up towards Gladio’s face but paused and withdrew it.  “A tattoo.  Where your scar was, correct?  And tiny gladiolus flowers, at that.  A clever choice.”

Gladio wished Ignis would back off a bit, give him some room to breathe, but Gladio couldn’t make himself do it.  Ignis smelled like fresh laundry that had dried in the summer sun.  Gladio wondered if his sense of smell had been enhanced too, or if he just had it that damn bad.

“Uh, thanks,” Gladio replied.

He just had it that damn bad.

“You’re welcome,” Ignis replied.  He finally took a step back out of Gladio’s immediate vicinity.  “I’m not able to stay for long this evening, but I do have a few updates for you.”

Gladio nodded.  “Updates are good.”  Smooth, Gladio, very smooth.

“First, His Majesty and His Highness have cleared you for visitors.  Clarus is unfortunately with His Majesty and unable to come in person, but your sister and Nyx Ulric have expressed an interest in visiting.”

Gladio couldn’t stifle the smile that broke out across his face.  “That’s the best news I’ve had since I woke up in this place.  When can they come?”

“Whenever you’d like,” Ignis said.  He withdrew a comm from his tailored jacket and handed it Gladio.  “His Majesty asks that you use discretion when contacting anyone other than myself, Clarus, Iris, or Nyx.  All of our contact details have been programmed in your comm.”

Yes, yes, yes!  Gladio set the comm carefully on the nearby end table before he broke it in his excitement.

“Anything else?”

“One last item.  Beginning tomorrow, I’ve cleared my schedule to assist with your physical rehabilitation.  Our timetable is growing tight, and His Majesty feels my efforts would be best spent aiding your progress here.”

Gladio fought back a spasm in his muscles, clenching his jaw to keep it from hanging open.  “You’ll be here every day?” Gladio asked.

“Very nearly,” Ignis replied, “I’m well versed in the technology of your augments and can assist with your calibration.  You’ll find I’m no slouch when it comes to combat, either, once we reach the point where you feel confident sparring.”

“Uh, this isn’t a knock on your skills or anything, but I ain’t sure I can avoid breaking you in half if this shit goes wild,” Gladio said, worried, lifting his arms up.

“We’re still getting to know each other, Gladio, but I believe you’ll find yourself pleasantly surprised.  Besides…”  Ignis grinned at Gladio, full lips turned up ever so slightly in the corners.  “You’ll have to catch me, first.”

Gladio returned Ignis’s grin with a feral edge.  Whatever else this would be, it would be _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading. <3 Comments and kudos are the swear words in cyborg!Gladio's vocabulary.
> 
> I'll be switching over to work on my FFXV Valentine's Day Exchange gift after this, so I'm not sure when the next installment will be posted, but it is high on the priority list!


	3. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio continues to recuperate while receiving several reminders about what's at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna), who is as talented as she is intelligent and kind. Any remaining mistakes are on me.

Turns out ‘fun’ and ‘rebuilding your core body strength while learning how to use and control crazy cybernetic augments’ weren’t one and the same.

Gladio thought he’d be immune to embarrassment by this point given the variety of compromising positions Ignis had found him in during his recuperation, but the current mishap with the gravity enhancer had to take the cake.  In this case, the cake was Gladio’s abject humiliation.  At least from his position flat on his back and pinned to the gleaming metal panels of the enhancer, he had a clear view of the door.  Who knew one misplaced fingertip could set the equipment to maximum?

Gladio grimaced when he saw Ignis breeze through the automatic doors wearing his customary black and silver synthweave; the pants were loose and tucked into knee-high boots, but the shirt looked painted on Ignis’s lithe torso, a fact that Gladio never failed to appreciate.  He’d hoped for one of the rehabilitation medics to find him before Ignis did, but luck wasn’t on his side today.  Ignis’s gaze locked on Gladio’s prone form immediately.

“Gladio? Are you quite alright?” Even as he asked the question, Ignis crossed the long room to the control panel beside the enhancer.  A light blue holographic display appeared in front of Ignis’s palm when he lifted a hand to the panel.

“Great... really great.  Just... hanging out down here, taking a break...” Gladio said.  The sheer force of the gravity made drawing air into his lungs difficult.

Ignis let his pointer finger rest an inch above the glowing display. “A moment. How long have you been under the effect of this particular gravitational coefficient?”

“Are you... seriously... collecting _data_ right now...?” Gladio asked with labored breaths.

Ignis cocked a trademark eyebrow in Gladio’s direction, finger still hovering.

“I dunno... thirty, forty minutes? Can you turn... the fucking thing... off now?” Gladio huffed. “Please?” he added as an afterthought.

A tap of a gloved finger against the translucent control panel released Gladio from the crushing pressure of the gravity enhancer.  He took a few huge, gasping breaths before realizing what he must look like rolling around and panting on the ground.  Gladio sat up and crossed his legs, giving himself some time to adjust as the blood flowed back to all the correct vessels in his body.

“Why did you not use your neurolink to page the monitoring station?” Ignis asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Gladio muttered a few syllables that he knew didn’t add up to any kind of answer.  He didn’t use it because he hated that they installed the damn thing in the first place.  Dr. Yeager explained its operation and functions a couple weeks ago when he and Ignis had started his physical conditioning, but he hadn’t used it at all.  Something about having a comm—more than a comm, really—lodged in his brain gave him a mighty uncomfortableness.  The visor paired with it sat untouched on the end table in Gladio’s quarters.

“Gladio, I can appreciate a certain degree of recalcitrance towards adopting new technology given how much has been foisted on you in such a short span of time.  Sooner rather than later, however, you must learn to embrace it.  We will require every advantage possible to even have a remote chance of turning the tide in this war,” Ignis challenged.  He folded his limbs gracefully under him to sit back on his ankles in front of Gladio.

“Your concern’s been noted, Iggy, but I’m the very last person who needs a lecture on how fucked the war is,” Gladio said.  He hadn’t intended his tone to veer straight from annoyed to scathing, but it did anyway.  Only the fact that he’d used his diminutive for Ignis kept the words from being outright hostile.

Though his expression remained as controlled as ever, Ignis reached forward and rested his fingertips on Gladio’s knee.  “Forgive me.  You’re absolutely correct.  I...”  He gave his head a nigh imperceptible shake.  “I apologize.  May I begin today’s diagnostic?”

“That wasn’t what you were gonna say at first,” Gladio probed, leaning forward towards Ignis.  “C’mon. You were about to let me in past the whole cool, calm, collected Operative thing you have going on.  What was it?”

As Ignis considered, Gladio studied him.  Once he got past the initial ‘God damn, he’s flawless’ reaction that always happened when he looked at Ignis, he noticed the subtle dark smudges underneath his sharp seafoam eyes.  Those were new.  Digital flotsam and jetsam scrolled across the lenses of Ignis’s visor and eyes alike—the fact that Ignis had a HUD installed in his goddamn eyeballs had taken Gladio some getting used to.

“Iggy?” Gladio asked.  His own gaze fell to Ignis’s hand still resting on his knee.  With a sharp exhale, he raised one of his metal-veined hands and placed it lightly atop Ignis’s.  It was cooler than his, and firm in a wiry sort of way, and Astrals, why did Gladio even care so damn much what his hand felt like? “You with me?”

At the touch, Ignis blinked a few times, slow and deliberate.  The electronic feeds vanished from Ignis’s vision.  “Yes, I’m with you.  I suppose that’s two apologies I owe you, now.  A minor crisis at the Citadel required my attention, but it’s resolved for the moment.”

“Shit. They’ve really got you on call twenty four-seven, don’t they?” Gladio asked.  When Ignis’s expression went unfocused again, he asked another question. “Iggy, how long has it been since you slept? You’ve got that stimmed-up look about you and it’s makin’ me nervous.  Last time I saw that, I had to drag Pelna’s naked ass off the bridge of our cruiser while he _insisted_ we could drive the Niffs off by broadcasting the Lucian national anthem at them.”  Gladio smiled until his brain caught up and reminded him that Pelna was dead. Then the smile died too.

“The last time I slept was 79 hours ago, but please, don’t trouble yourself on my account.  I require less sleep than the average person,” Ignis replied.

Gladio’s jaw hung open. “What the fuck?  You should be dead or at _least_ in a coma right now.  How are you even functioning?  I appreciate the save from that stupid piece of machinery, but can’t you leave my dumb ass alone for the rest of the day and get some rest?”

“You need not concern yourself,” Ignis said, finally withdrawing his hand from underneath Gladio’s.  “Besides, am I not the one who's supposed to be supporting you?”

“Fuck’s sake, Iggy, I know I’m still in beta mode or whatever right now, but we’re gonna be working together.  I always look out for the people in my unit, or my squad, or whatever the hell we’re gonna be.  You can’t take care of shit if you don’t take care of yourself first,” Gladio snapped.  He reached out to poke Ignis in the chest with a finger and meant it to be a light jab, but the way Ignis’s torso rocked back told him he’d misjudged his strength.

Again.

When Ignis’s lips parted, Gladio thought he was about to be scolded.  Instead he was rewarded with a wry smile.  “Your kindness does you credit, Gladio.  I’ll consider it.  For now, may I begin the diagnostic?”

“Go for it,” Gladio said, flapping a nonchalant hand and turning his head towards the nearby beige wall.

Ignis inclined his head to one side in acknowledgment before pulling out a chromatic silver disc.  It hovered in the air once he pulled his hand away, projecting a familiar three paneled screen that displayed far too much personal shit about Gladio for his comfort.  Ignis’s eyes and fingers were equally rapid as they worked across the screen, swiping and dismissing different informational panels once they were sufficiently reviewed.

“You’ll be pleased to note the gravity enhancer caused no damage to any of your augments,” Ignis said.

“I’d be pissed if they did.  Aren’t these things supposed to be indestructible?”

“Not quite indestructible, although close.  You’ve familiarized yourself with running this program for yourself, I hope?” Ignis asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.  Although—and if there’s an official record, you can put this shit on it—I still find it all sorts of strange that you and His Majesty and His Highness have access to everything from my heart rate to my goddamn hormone levels,” Gladio muttered, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“There is an official record, and I’ve made an annotation of your concerns,” Ignis replied.  The half hum, half laugh he made curled around the bottom of Gladio’s spine.  When Gladio’s heart rate spiked, Ignis directed a questioning eyebrow at him.  “Are you experiencing any pain or side effects?”

“No, but... I was wondering.  You aren’t always monitoring that thing, are you?”

“His Majesty and His Highness only have access as a formality.  I monitor it when any parameter exceeds the maximum value of established acceptable ranges, but otherwise the data is archived without review.  Why do you ask?” Ignis replied, focused on the translucent screens before him.

His thoughts flashed back to a couple of nights ago.  Gladio hadn’t been able to sleep, and on top of that his body had decided to gift him with a raging hard-on.  Since he wasn’t about to let his hands anywhere near his dick until he was one hundred percent in control of his new hardware, he’d rutted against the sheets of his bed for what felt like hours before he finally came.  While it had been nice to have his body seize up in pleasure instead of pain, the resulting orgasm had left him breathless and shaky and possessed of a _far_ higher heart rate than usual.

Then, half an hour later, he’d done it again.  While thinking of Ignis, which, okay, was pretty understandable because the man was flawless.  But now he was thinking of himself thinking of Ignis while awkwardly jerking off with Ignis right in front of him.  Fucking _Astrals_ , maybe it was time to test if his new body could survive a jaunt from the rehab room’s window.  

“No reason.”

“Gladio, please inform me if there’s aught amiss with the diagnostic.  The scans indicate a substantial increase in adrenaline, norepinephrine, and heart rate.  I do recall the issues we experienced the first time we—”

“Ignis, just drop it, _please_ ,” Gladio said, turning around and facing away from the Operative entirely.  “Can’t a guy be anxious and weirded out by the government having access to his every bodily function _without_ a fucking interrogation?”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll conduct the rest of the exam without comment.”

Gladio glowered at the gravity enhancer that was in his view now that he’d turned his back on Ignis.  He focused on his breathing to attempt to get his body under control again.  As he counted down his inhales and exhales and calmed his own heart, a sound fluttered at the edges of his hearing. _Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub_... Gladio’s frown deepened, crinkling his forehead and the skin around his tattoo.

That wasn’t his heartbeat.  It was Ignis’s, and he could hear it, and it was racing.  Gladio looked over his shoulder, face scrunched into his concentration frown.  Ignis met Gladio’s gaze from over the panels.

“Yes?” The cool tone belied the pulse Gladio could make out under all the ambient noises of the facility.

“First, Iggy, I’m sorry.  Someday we’ll stop apologizing all over each other, I guess, but not today.  But, more importantly... I’m pretty sure I can hear _your_ heartbeat.  Is that, uh, how did you put it, within acceptable established ranges?”

Ignis’s eyebrows lifted and his almond shaped eyes widened a fraction.  “Theoretically, I suppose.”  Even as he spoke, Gladio heard Ignis’s pulse slow and drop into a more normal resting heart rate with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible.  Ignis turned off the portable med-scan and pocketed it with a quicksilver motion.

“What the hell?” Gladio asked softly, frown softening into a quizzical mein.

Gladio knew that Ignis heard him, but he pretended that he didn’t.  “I’m pleased to report today’s diagnostic free of concerns.  Unless you have any objections, I believe I will accept your directive to get some rest today.  I’m of no use to anyone if I collapse.”

“I mean, yeah, sure.  Whatever you want.  Listen, did I fuck up?  Should I not have said anything?” Gladio asked, concerned.

For an instant, Ignis appeared stricken, an expression Gladio had never seen from him before.  Then the Operative mask slid back into place, as perfect and composed as ever.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Gladio.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gladio stood dumbstruck as Ignis left without another word.  His mind reeled—were his (traitorous, impossible, and inconvenient) feelings that obvious? Did he actually monitor his “data” twenty four-seven? Why in all the galaxies could he hear other people’s heartbeats, and more importantly, why did Ignis seem to have complete and utter control over his own?  How did he deal with a crisis at the Citadel while carrying on a conversation with Gladio? How the _fuck_ did he stay awake for 70 plus hours without keeling over?

He threw up his hands in capitulation.  The sooner they left for this Gods damned mission, the better.  Mission meant busy, and busy meant less time for thinking about men and questions that both had no answers.  Well, no answers for Gladio, anyway. He stomped over to the archaic weight rack and began loading plates onto each end of the bar.  

He made sure to stay far, far away from the gravity enhancer.

* * *

“Gladdy!”

The sound of Iris’s voice over the cacophony of vehicles and people soothed an agitation somewhere deep inside Gladio.  He was running late—no shuttle license yet, and no shuttle even if he had his documents back—but judging from Iris’s cheerful smile, she didn’t seem to mind.

Gladio knew Iris’s running leap was coming and caught her in his arms.  He kept his grip as light as a zephyr, as gentle as though he were trying to keep an egg from cracking.  He hadn’t had any mishaps in two entire weeks—not since he’d snapped the Olympic bar clean in half the day Ignis froze him out—but his sister was the most precious of cargo, so he wouldn’t take any risks.

“Hey, Moogs.  I’m real glad to see you.  Missed you bunches,” Gladio said. The smell of her strawberries and cream shampoo evoked a powerful blend of affection and nostalgia, as heady as some of the heavy duty drugs he’d been on in recent months.

“Oh Gladdy, you look amazing.  These are so much cooler in person!” Iris said once Gladio had put her back on the ground.  She took one of his hands and started to trace the metal augments with one finger, her glittery red nail polish sparkling in the sun.

“Okay, weirdo,” Gladio said with a smile, batting her hand away, “Leave it to you to be impressed by shit I only have because I nearly died.”

“Well, I already yelled at you for going and almost getting yourself killed.  If you do it again, then I’ll be really mad.  Also, since Dad’s not here to say it, language.”

Leave it to Iris to make light of life-altering events.  Gladio hadn’t given her the full scope of how close a thing it was, content to let her live without that knowledge.  He could bear it for the both of them.

“Since Dad’s not here, fuck language,” Gladio replied, earning a high and sweet laugh from Iris. “I have no idea what kind of place you’ve dragged us to, so you’re the expert today, Moogs.”

“C’mon, you’ll love it,”  Iris said, dragging Gladio by one hand inside a bright-neon building at street level.

The neon theme continued inside the restaurant.  Personally, Gladio thought the decor resembled fluorescent unicorn shit, but he’d bear it for Iris’s sake.  Bass heavy music with an absurd amount of sirens and screeches blared over the speakers, loud enough that Gladio had to make an effort to tune it out before he gave himself a migraine.  As he took in the scenery, Gladio noted that he was most definitely the oldest person in here, or at the very least the oldest looking person.

“Moogs, I love you more than anything, but next time I’m picking the place,” Gladio said, pitching his voice to be heard over the music.

“You say that _now_ , but wait until you try the food.  It’s really good!” Iris said as she shimmied into a highlighter-yellow booth.  Gladio took the side opposite her.  “You don’t even have to talk to anyone, so I thought it’d be perfect for you.  You just order off the menu here in the middle and then the food gets put in the cubby there when it’s ready.”

“Iris, I’m perfectly capable of talking to people,” Gladio said, narrowing his eyes in her direction.  His glare faltered when he saw a willowy girl walk by with bubblegum pink hair and a crapton of piercings that flashed with little LED lights. “Then again, maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Iris laughed and rested her chin in both of her hands, elbows propped on the table. “Want me to order for you? I’ll pick you something good.”

“That’d be great, Moogs,” Gladio replied.  He watched as Iris navigated the screen embedded in their ghastly yellow table, punching in a series of commands with all the familiarity of youth.

“Annnnd we’re done! Bam! So many places are moving to this system and I gotta say, it’s kinda convenient. Makes Jared and the white table cloth dinners back at home seem downright ancient.”

“Hey, be nice to Jared.  Also, if you want to complain about food, you can come hang out with me at the hospital and _really_ have something to complain about.”

“I love you, Gladdy, but no thanks.  That’s the whole reason I asked you to meet me here in the first place,” Iris said.  She worried her lower lip with her teeth before adding, “That, and I thought it might make you feel a little more comfortable about, you know, your changes.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow at Iris. “If I weren’t starving, I think I’d be pretty uncomfortable right now, but I’m willing to hear you out.”

“Well...” Iris started with a small smile, “The people who hang out here, they kinda choose to make themselves look unique?  And I know you didn’t really have a choice, but I thought seeing people that look different doing normal stuff might make you feel a little more normal, too.”

Damn it.  Leave it to Iris to make light of life-altering events _and_ make him want to cry in public.  “Thanks, Iris.  That’s really sweet of you.”  Gladio coughed and shifted against the squeaky vinyl material that covered their booth.  “How’s school going?”

“Mmmm,” Iris murmured, staring down at the table, “We don’t actually have classes at school anymore.  It’s all in VR.  The principal gave some speech and said it was because of funding issues, but like, I go to a private school so that doesn’t seem right.  I think it’s because of the war.  A lot of my friends’ schools are doing the same thing, so maybe they don’t want easy targets or something.”

Worry and admiration flared within Gladio. When did Iris get so wise? When did the war get so close, breathing down Insomnia’s neck while holding a knife to its back?

“You’re probably right, Moogs.  I’m sorry you can’t go to real classes.”

“It’s way easier to goof off in VR,” Iris said with a secret little smile.

“You’d better not be goofing off at all.  War or not, your education is still important.”

“Would you look at that?” Iris asked, breezing over Gladio’s reprimand and pointing to the cubby where two plates of food rested. “Let’s eat!”

Despite its neon colour, gelatinous texture, and having no idea what it was, Gladio enjoyed his meal.  It seemed chock full of salt, fat, and all the other fun nutritional elements Gladio’s current diet lacked, which was good enough for him.  A magenta concoction wobbled atop Iris’s plate every time she plunged her fork into it.  She’d eaten half of it when she set down the fork and frowned at the table.

“Iris, what’s wrong?” Gladio asked.

“Gladdy... do you have to go away again?”

Shit.  Why had he known this conversation was going to happen?

“Yeah, Moogs, I do.”

“ _Why_?”

Gladio took a steadying breath and set his own fork down.  He reached across the table and took one of Iris’s hands in his, squeezing it with the lightest of touches.

“There’s a lot of reasons, and I don’t know how good some of them are, but some are really important.  Big picture important.”

“Like what?”

“I want it to be safe enough for you to go to real school instead of VR school.  Hell, when you’re older and if you decide you want children, I want your children to be able to go to real school.  I want us not to have to live in fear behind a giant shield, wondering when the next breach will be and how many lives it’ll cost to fix it.  I want all the planets that are still in the Coalition to stay there.  I want to free all the planets we’ve lost, for their people to be able to live their lives as they please instead of in slavery.  I want people to be able to look up at the stars and feel joy, see possibility, instead of feeling fear and seeing death.”

Iris considered.  “But does it have to be _you_?”

“I won’t be alone, but yeah.  It kinda does have to be me.  One of the suckier things about life is that the right choice usually ends up being the hard, crappy one.”

“Now you sound like Dad,” Iris said with a tiny grin and and accompanying eye roll.

“Dad makes some valid points once in a while between all the lectures about honor and duty and sacrifice,” Gladio said, returning the smile.

“I’m... I’m just gonna miss you, Gladdy, cause I just got you back.  That’s all,” Iris said, a few tears rolling down her cheeks over her upturned lips.

“Hey, chin up, Moogs,” Gladio said, thumbing the tears from Iris’s cheek. “I’ll be on a private,  _fancy_ ship this time.  I bet I can take advantage of the QCN and comm you all the time.  And I can comm Dad too, make sure he’s not Dad’ing too hard.”

“When does he ever not Dad too hard?” Iris asked with the trademark Amicitia snorting laugh.

Iris’s mood improved as their conversation turned to gentler topics.  Gladio paid for lunch—his comm was tied to a new account that the Coalition had set up for him, and double bonus, it actually had credits in it—and made sure Iris was safely in her shuttle before heading back home.

As Gladio watched the shuttle rise to the aerial traffic pathways above Insomnia, he sent a prayer to any divine power listening that he’d be able to make good on his promises.

* * *

That night, Gladio dreamt.  Unfortunately, he remembered his dream.

He ran through the hallways of Iris’s school, white marble walls dripping with blood and pulpy viscera.  Gladio wore his old Kingsglaive armor, his breath loud and harsh within the confines of his helmet.  He tried to avoid the bodies sprawled across the floor—so many children broken into pieces, shattered like porcelain dolls—but his boots would inevitably bear down with a sickening crunch on a hand or ankle.

He could see Iris at the end of the hallway, her face contorted in a rictus of pain, but he couldn’t hear her scream.  An MT grappled her, its metal arms around her throat and waist.  He couldn’t hear anything except his breaths, one after the other, too loud and too fast and too hot.

Gladio ran faster but gained no distance.  Iris was just as far away as when he started, but the bodies on the floor began to change.  Glaive uniforms appeared between school uniforms, all of them worn by corpses.  Some were charred beyond recognition.  Others had their faces eerily visible.  Atticus. Tredd. Luche. Pelna. Crowe. Nyx.

The landscape shifted, wavered in the strange way of dreams.  He was still in the school hallway, but he was at the base of a giant mountain of corpses with Iris at the top.  She screamed and screamed and screamed, reaching a hand down to Gladio.

“Gladdy, please, _help_!”

Gladio scrambled up the bodies towards Iris, disgusted, fighting back the urge to vomit.  Puking would only make his helmet disgusting and slow him down.  He slipped as he accidentally dislodged a body from the pile and redoubled his efforts when he regained his footing.

When he reached the top, he was exhausted, bits of flesh and innards dangling from his uniform, the fabric drenched in blood.  Iris stood, shaking and sobbing, and then he saw what she held between her hands.

The glowing pink orb of a Widowmaker.

“I’m sorry, Gladdy,” she cried before the shriek of the Widowmaker drowned her out.  Before it ruptured her mucus membranes, blood trickling from her nose and ears.

Before it exploded and bathed the world in ruin.

Gladio jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in his bed and gasping for breath.  He was drenched in sweat, his heart was racing, and his mind was full of horrifying images from the dream.  Panic made him slow and stupid, made his brain fail to heed his urging that _it wasn’t real, it was a dream, it wasn’t real_.  But his brain yammered that it could be real, it had been real, and Gladio trembled as he fought for control.

Many long, painful minutes later, Gladio could breathe at a speed that wasn’t considered hyperventilation.  He needed to talk to someone, anyone, to hear a human voice and reassure himself that he wasn’t crazy.  Gladio groped for his comm.  Once he had it in hand, he looked for Nyx’s details in his contact list, tapping the name and bringing the comm to his ear.

The polite and chirruping connection tone grated on Gladio’s nerves.  The call failed to connect and rerouted to voicemail.

_Ulric here. Can’t answer right now, but you know what to do._

Gladio ended the call before he left a message that consisted of only his panicked breathing.  He could call Iris, but no, she was fine and didn’t need to hear him like this.  He’d check in on her tomorrow once he’d slept.

His fingers hovered over Ignis’s entry.  A stupid idea, probably, since Ignis had been unfailingly cordial since the incident with the heartbeat bullshit but distant all the same.  But Gladio needed to hear another real person to ground himself—he couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t get his pulse to stop hammering in his throat.

Gladio initiated the call.

Two cheerful connection tones and Ignis’s smooth, accented voice spoke over the comm.

“Gladiolus?”

Gladio couldn’t bring himself to do more than breathe into the comm like a neanderthal for several seconds.  “Uh, hi, Ignis. Hey. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, not at all. Is everything alright? Are you in danger?” Ignis sounded worried, which made Gladio feel a little better.

He laughed and wished it hadn’t come out with a hysterical edge.  “The only danger I’m in is from my brain.  I’m good, sorry for bugging you.”

“You’re not bothering me. Actually, I’m rather grateful for the distraction. Rearranging supply lines and hyperspace jump schedules is hardly exciting work,” Ignis said.

“It’s...” Gladio glanced at his comm for the time, “Half past three in the morning and you’re working?”

“Are you surprised?” Ignis asked, and Gladio swore he could hear the raised eyebrow that went with the question.

“Hell no, Iggy. Not at all. In fact, I was sort of counting on it when I patched you through.”

“Perhaps I should be concerned that I’m becoming predictable,” Ignis said, tone light and teasing.

Gladio smiled. “If there’s any pattern to you, I ain’t figured it out yet.”

“Good.  I’ll table the matter for now, then.”  A pause.  “Do wish to discuss... whatever it is? I’d be pleased to listen.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Gladio replied, surprised to find it true. “Thanks.”

“Very well.  Try to get some rest, Gladio.”

“You too.  I mean, try to get some rest before you’ve six days without it. Or something.”

Ignis’s quiet laugh unsnarled the remnants of the panic threaded through Gladio’s chest.

“Of course.  Good night.”

“Night.”

Once the call ended, Gladio set his comm back on the end table and wrapped himself back in the thin blankets of his rehab room’s bed.  Sleep eventually came again, and this time without dreams.

* * *

The next day, Gladio met Ignis for their early afternoon training session. The Operative was more relaxed than he had been since their odd confrontation weeks ago.  For all intents and purposes, Gladio’s augments appeared calibrated, so he and Ignis worked on strength training to further his conditioning and acclimate him to the upper and lower levels of his augmented abilities.

When Gladio punched a hole clear through a steel portion of the training centre wall, Ignis actually broke out into a slow clap, the sound muffled by his gloves.

“Well done, Gladio.  Well done.”

“That’s coming out of my stipend, isn’t it?” Gladio asked with a chuckle.

“Indeed.”

Gladio knew he had been distracted thinking of Nyx’s pending visit, so he didn’t take it too much to heart.  Once Ignis left for the Citadel, Gladio went up to his room and showered.  Iris had sent a box of his personal effects from home, including a few of his favourite antique books printed on real paper.  He chose one of them at random— _Forsaken By Time_ —and stretched out on the couch as best his height allowed him.

The hours flew by.  Gladio hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the simple pleasure of reading words that weren’t scrolling down a screen.  It was a pleasant and comforting break from his current situation.  He was so engrossed in the tale that he almost missed the chime announcing someone at his door.

“Who is it?” Gladio asked.  The staff had told him about his room’s voice recognition capabilities after several broken control panels for its various features.

“Who do you think it is, scarface? Open up,” the unmistakable voice of Nyx Ulric quipped from the intercom.

“Open,” Gladio commanded as he set the book aside and rose from the couch.  Gods, he felt excited and nervous all at the same time.  He’d just be excited—Nyx had been his best and closest friend from the time Gladio joined the Glaive—but he had no idea how Nyx would react to seeing him.

“Shitting _Astrals_ , Gladio, those medics are vicious.  If you’d left me out there a second longer they’d probably have stripped me and tied...”  Nyx trailed off as his gaze fell on Gladio. “Wow. Gods.”

Gladio shuffled as the doors whooshed closed behind Nyx.  He could have cooled the room for an excuse to cover up with a sweater, but he figured better to get the gawking out of the way first and went with a singlet instead.  Gladio ran a hand up and down his forearm.  Nyx looked the same as ever—undercut with Galahdian braids, half-assed beard, intense blue eyes, thin t-shirt and denim pants—which made Gladio feel even more out of place.

“If you’re thinking about punching me, please don’t.  I wouldn’t want you to break your hand on all the shit they’ve reinforced me with,” Gladio said, trying to ease Nyx from his silence.

“Punch you?” Nyx asked, the crack in his voice threatening to fracture Gladio as well, “You fucking idiot.  That _suggestion_ makes me want to punch you, sure.”

“I dunno, you’ve got a bit of a wild look in your eyes,” Gladio replied.

Nyx put the six pack he held down on the floor, crossed the room to Gladio, and threw his arms around him.  “Gods. You feel as real as you look, but it’s still like seeing a fucking ghost, lemme tell ya.  It’s been kind of a shitshow without you around.”

“If that’s your way of saying you missed me, Nyx, I missed you too,” Gladio replied with a laugh, returning Nyx’s hug with careful pressure.

“Missed that shield of yours more than your mouth, that’s for sure,” Nyx replied, thumping Gladio on the back.  After a moment, he hissed through his teeth.  “Ow, fuck, you weren’t kidding.  Also, _damn_ , you smell good.  You trying to impress me?”

“You wish,” Gladio shot back with a grin. “You gonna let me go anytime soon?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you? When you watch your lieutenant get obliterated on the battlefield and somehow survive, you get to hug them for as long as you want when you see them next,” Nyx muttered.

“Must have missed that in Regulations Review,” Gladio said.

“You always asked me for help with that shit, so yeah, probably,” Nyx muttered.  He withdrew from Gladio and gave him a tilted grin.  “I know you’re gonna be weird about hearing this, but if people didn’t want to fuck with you before all this augmentation crap, they definitely won’t want to now.”

Gladio smirked.  “Let’s hope the Niffs feel the same way.”

A shadow passed over Nyx’s expression at Gladio’s words, but he smoothed it away.  “Want a beer?  I feel like I need a few drinks to process all this.”

“Do you have to ask?”

“That’s my LT,” Nyx replied.  He went back to the temporarily abandoned six pack and took them to the small fridge in Gladio’s kitchenette.  After plucking two from the cardboard, he placed the rest in the fridge and made his way back to Gladio.  “All the technology we have now, and twist off caps still have to be top of the list.”

Gladio laughed and accepted the bottle from Nyx, sitting down on the couch and leaning back into the cushions. “You would say that.”

Nyx settled down next to Gladio, crossing his legs at a wide angle and tilting his bottle towards the other man. “Cheers?”

“Cheers,” Gladio said, clinking his bottle against Nyx’s before bringing it to his lips.

“I would ask you how you’ve been, but we sort of covered a lot of it over the comm the other night,” Nyx said with a wry smile.

“Yeah.  Aside from punching a hole through a steel wall and a visit with Iris, things have been pretty uneventful.  A lot of training.  Who knew coming back from the dead was such a fucking ordeal?”

Nyx nudged Gladio’s shoulder with his empty fist. “Whoooo boy, I bet the Ice Prince wasn’t happy about that one.  That wall repair will be on the Coalition's dime.”

“Ice Prince? You mean Ignis?” Gladio asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Wow, first name basis and everything? Guess they must really be on him to be nice to their secret weapon.”

Gladio’s brow furrowed. “Nyx, what the fuck are you on about?”

“What the fuck are  _you_ on about? _Operative Scientia_ —stop glowering at me, Gladio, he’s the one who insisted on that form of address, not me—debriefed me before we got permission to reinstate contact.  He was very thorough and very specific about what we could and could not discuss, and colder than the Glacian’s tits the whole time.  Honestly, if he didn’t piss me off, he’d terrify me.”

“Sorry, it’s just... that doesn’t sound like the Ignis I know at all,” Gladio said.

“The fact that he lets you call him by his first name is _wild_ to me,” Nyx said with a small laugh. “When I’m not out on reconnaissance in the Lucian outlands, I’m on guard duty at the Citadel.  Operative Scientia and His Highness have been joined at the hip lately.  Don’t see one without the other, and I’m willing to bet my insignificant life savings it has to do with this mission they’re sending you on.”

“They tell you any details? Gladio asked quickly. “They’re still keeping me in the dark about all of it, though I’m assuming like everything else in this fucking war, it’s horrible and impossible.”

Nyx squirmed under the intensity of Gladio’s regard.  “Look, I don’t trust that they’re not listening to our conversation right now, and I’ve only heard rumors.  But... it sounds like a long shot, Gladio.  A really, really, _really_ long shot.”

“Figures,” Gladio muttered, taking a long pull from his beer. “How about the front? Do I even wanna know?”

“No, you don’t.  We’re holding down this system, but barely.  Leide, Duscae, Cleigne... we’re a hair away from losing the rest of the planets entirely.  Pretty soon Lucis will be the only safe harbour left, and even then only as long as the Planetary Defense Shield lasts.  The Niffs keep getting control of more and more hyperspace junctions, making them unsafe or downright impossible to use, so it’s harder to defend when we have the forces to spare for it.”

Gladio sighed and drained the rest of his beer.  Nyx followed suit.

“About what I expected.  I can access a little more now that I have the comm back, but the feeds are scrubbed because of how damn hopeless the truth is.”

“Yeah,” Nyx agreed.  He looked down at the carpet and back up to Gladio. “To be honest, I don’t know how much longer we can fight.  How much longer _I_ can fight.  So if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather get into the rest of those beers and enjoy the night with my best friend instead of talking about the war.”

Gladio placed a hand on Nyx’s shoulder. “You got it.”

How easy it was, Gladio thought, to fall into old routines.  The night reminded him a lot of the nights he and Nyx spent at his dilapidated shithole of an apartment, getting drunk and laughing about how tits up things had gone.  When Nyx’s beers were done, they moved onto Gladio’s stash.  Between alcohol and familiarity, he forgot about the mission, the augmentation, the pain, the past.

Until Nyx brought it back up again.

“Gladio, listen,” Nyx said, leaning on Gladio’s shoulder, his words only a little slurred, “I gotta say my speel before you go gallivanting off into the stars again to play hero.”

“Look who’s talking,” Gladio interjected halfheartedly.

“Shhhhh. Shhhhh. Let me speak, my friend.  After that mission, after the Widowmaker, I thought you were gone.  I saw you.  What was left of you.  And that shit fucked me up real good.  I mourned.  Hell, I even got a tattoo of a shield for you, see?” Nyx paused to lift up his tee and expose an intricate black and white rendition of a shield across his ribs, right underneath the lightning scars he got from a training incident pre-Gladio.

“Holy shit,” Gladio said.

“Yeah yeah, I know. Anyway, I mourned, but I never got _over_ it. I still have nightmares. I get flashbacks at the most random times. They put me on indefinite medical leave and probably only let me back in the Glaive because they’re desperate.  I go between anger and anxiety and guilt until all of that shit is swirled up inside my head like a grenade, waiting to explode.  But then... I found out you were _alive_.”

Nyx paused, frowning at his empty bottle.  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know if I can go through losing you a second time.  I thought about coming in here and telling you I didn’t want to hear from you again, that I couldn’t hack it, but then I decided that’d be shit for both of us. You’ll always be my friend.  Hell, it might even be easier now that you’re not my superior.”

An ache started deep in Gladio’s chest, right behind his heart. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t choose the nuclear option.”

Nyx put a finger against Gladio’s lips.  “I’m not through yet, Amicitia.  So, I know whatever _more_ might have been between us warped off into hyperspace a long time ago.  Fraternization and all that, yeah yeah, I got it,” Nyx said, mimicking a talking mouth with a hand. “But you know the one fucking thing I kept thinking about the most? More than the gore and the guilt? My one stupid regret?”

Gladio raised an eyebrow to accompany his pulse. “What?”

“This.”

Nyx took both hands and placed them behind Gladio’s neck, against the metal of the augments that curled behind his ears, and kissed him.  Stunned motionless, Gladio didn’t respond at first, but at the heat and pressure of Nyx’s mouth against his, he yielded.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it—or like it hadn’t happened before—but this time felt like more.  Nyx let go of Gladio, let his hands and lips slide away, and stood from the couch.

“There.  Now, if you go and die without saying goodbye again, my wonderful and stupid and headstrong friend, I can cross that regret off the list.”

“Nyx, have I ever told you that you’re the most confusing asshole in this entire system?  I’m literally about to go off on a secret mission with zero chance of success, and _that’s_ your play?” Gladio asked with a smile.

Nyx laughed and ran a hand through his hair.  “I love you to fucking pieces, you beautiful bastard, but I’m not an idiot.  I know you and I, we’re better off as friends.  And I also know if anyone can win us this goddamn war, it’s you, weird cyborg shit or no.  So go. Do your thing. Try to have the courtesy of comming me if you’re about to get yourself killed again.”

The ache in Gladio’s chest turned into an pain, sharp as the twisting of a knife.  “I’ll try.  Since I’m thinking you’re about to make a dramatic exit, as usual, I’ll comm you before I’m off world?”

“You’d better.”

And then Nyx was gone, leaving Gladio alone with his thoughts, thoughts filled with more questions than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went a bit long and got posted a bit late, so expect chapter 4 within the week to make up for it. <3 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, I really appreciate it. Kudos and comments are amazing and give me life.


	4. Gladio.exe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis opens up and Gladio lets go.

An insistent trill from the end table chased the peaceful (for once) mist of sleep from Gladio’s mind. The vibrations of the slim device scooted it in circles across the metal surface. Gladio groaned when the device fell silent, praying it would stay that way. The trill began again, comm flashing and vibrating in time to the noise. Gladio groped blindly across the surface and found the comm, taking it in hand. He squinted through bleary eyes at the display— _06:01, Ignis Scientia_ —and tapped the button to answer.

“‘Lo?” Gladio mumbled, stretching his arms overhead and not bothering to disguise his yawn.

“Good morning, Gladio,” Even through the comm, Ignis’s voice sounded crisp and alert.

“Hey, Iggy. Whasgoinon?”

“My apologies for waking you, but I’m afraid there’s been a change in our schedule.”

“Oh, ok. You won’t be here today?” Gladio asked, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and running a hand over his face.

“We received new information overnight that has drastically accelerated our timetable,” Ignis said.

“Define ‘accelerated’,” Gladio replied, suddenly alert.

“We must depart tomorrow morning.”

Gladio mashed the comm against his face as his brain worked through the words. “ _Tomorrow?_ I thought we still had weeks.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I realize the difficulty this situation presents. I’ll explain more in person. Will you be ready for pickup in two hours?”

Gladio regarded the modest quarters he’d temporarily called home. Not like he’d miss this place with its mass produced furniture, industrial cleaning product smell, and horrible fucking memories of being dragged kicking and screaming back to ‘augmented’ life. But God, if he could stop and breathe for a sec, have one fucking minute to adjust to the insanity his life had become, that would be fantastic. He’d wanted to see Nyx again, and Iris, and maybe the rest of his unit before he left if Their Royal Highnesses approved.

Guess those plans were all down the shitter now. 

“I ain’t got much of a choice, do I? I’ll be ready.” 

* * *

As Gladio shifted his single duffel bag across his shoulder, he tried not to think too hard about how most of his worldly possessions fit inside it. He’d always travelled light—you got used to that in the Glaive, constantly on the move and never in the same place two nights in a row—but for whatever reason it bothered him today. Standing here in his uniform with nothing but what he could carry was familiar, too familiar.

But the metal he could still feel along his skin like an itch? Having to make a conscious effort to tune out every little noise in a massive urban cityscape? Running a diagnostic program alongside brushing his teeth? New, new in the bad way, the ‘fresh wound that ached with every tiny motion’ way. At least his standard Glaive uniform came with a long sleeved jacket and gloves. Gladio wore them both despite the climbing summer temperature.

He couldn’t stomach looking at himself—at his augments—right now.

He pulled his comm from the front breast pocket of his jacket and thought about a voice call to Nyx. Then Gladio remembered it was ten minutes until eight on a weekday morning and Nyx would either be on duty or asleep, so he opted for a message instead. His eyes lingered on the messages exchanged two days prior.

_You wanna talk about last night?_

Nyx’s reply had been almost instant. _Said everything I needed to say, G. When did you get so sappy on me? On duty, talk soon._

Gladio sighed, a hushed noise lost in the sound of shuttle engines. 

**G. Amicitia (07:51 AM):** change of plans, of fucking course. I’m off world tomorrow. will know more soon.

When a reply didn’t come immediately, he pocketed his comm and waited in silence for the last few minutes. Sure enough, a sleek and polished black shuttle pulled up to the platform right as the time on the giant overhead display read 08:00. Gladio’s family owned a shuttle, but it wasn’t anywhere near as nice as this one. The passenger door opened in a wide arc, swooping up like the wing of a bird of prey.

Ignis sat in the driver’s—pilot’s? Gladio never knew, since people still drove cars at ground level—seat, silver-gloved hands darting over the controls. The rear passenger door opened after a moment. Gladio tossed his bag in the backseat and climbed in front.

Gladio winced as he found his knees jammed up against the leather of the dash. “Could you…?” Before he could even finish the sentence, Ignis pressed a few times on a touch screen and the passenger seat began to slide back. “Thanks, that was a bit cramped. Who was in this last?”

Ignis gave a quiet laugh. “That would have been Crown Prince Noctis. Are you ready?” The doors of the shuttle closed with another command from Ignis.

“Damn. He must be shorter in person than he looks on the vids,” Gladio said. He clicked his safety harness together and gave Ignis a thumbs up. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“I would recommend not letting him overhear that sentiment. He’s rather sensitive about his height,” Ignis remarked with a wry smirk. He took hold of the controls and the shuttle began to move through the medical facility’s small hangar.

Gladio felt irritation simmer in his chest. He was along for this mission to protect the Prince (he assumed), not coddle him about stupid insecurities, and Gladio was two seconds away from informing Ignis of that fact. But then Gladio looked at Ignis, _really_ looked at him, and the words vanished. Ignis’s glossy, ash blonde hair lay across his forehead unstyled, brushed back only enough to keep it from obscuring the clear visor he wore. It lent a softness to the angular severity of his high cheekbones and strong jawline.

Fucking hell. He’d worked himself up to a steady, righteous anger about the change in schedule, about Ignis’s matter of fact way of telling Gladio about said change, but here it was slipping through his fingers at the first sight of the man. Gladio hated that he felt so comfortable around him. He hated that just sitting beside Ignis in a stupid shuttle could iron the wrinkles out of his temper, soothe his tangled nerves.

He hated that he felt all those things, and more emotions beyond that, and still had no idea who the man sitting beside him really was.

Of course, he wasn’t about to admit to any of that, so he settled for the next best thing.

“No spiky hairdo today?” Gladio asked, finding the controls for his seat and tilting it backwards.

“I made the decision to forego it today for several reasons,” Ignis replied, tilting back the controls as he eased the shuttle into the aerial traffic pathways. “One of which you may enjoy.”

“Yeah?” Gladio asked.

“As long as you’re amenable to the prospect, His Majesty and His Highness have requested a full combat demonstration today prior to the mission debriefing. I would be your opponent, of course,” Ignis said.

Part of Gladio jumped up and down for joy like a child at Ignis’s words. The other, more sensible half struggled to keep the joy to a minimum.

“Iggy, I… I gotta say, while I’ve been itching to see what you’re capable of since you first mentioned it, I’m also real worried. One slip up…”

“Gladio. Do you trust me?”

Gladio frowned, fiddling with the edges of his leather gloves as he considered. Ignis’s impeccable face was equal parts gorgeous and unreadable. Gladio fought past his distaste for his augments and focused, trying to make out the sound of Ignis’s pulse, and found it steady as well.

“Do you want the truth?” Gladio asked, slow and cautious.

“From you? Always.”

The vehemence and wording of Ignis’s response caught Gladio off guard. He let his amber eyes drift off to study the obsidian spires of Insomnia, the multitude of shuttles weaving in and out of buildings, the upper circle tram whizzing by.

“Do I trust you?” Gladio repeated, staring out the window and unable to face Ignis while he spoke. “There’s not an easy fucking answer to that question. I’m in a real strange position right now. When I ticked a box on a form ages ago when I officially enlisted, never in my wildest goddamn dreams did I imagine that meant I’d be brought back from the fucking dead.”

“Certainly understandable,” Ignis murmured.

“And look, I’ve tried not to complain too much because, let’s face it, I’m sure most people would kill for a second chance. But I’m not most people. I’ve had to claw and fight to get to back to this point and I still wake up every morning feeling like a stranger in my own fucking skin. I spend a lot of time asking myself why me, because if you want the truth, I kinda wish sometimes that it were anyone else _but_ me.”

“You’re still under no obligation to accompany the mission. I can re-route the shuttle immediately and take you back to your family’s estate. The conditions I outlined the first time we spoke still hold true. Until the Regalia departs with you aboard, the option to turn the mission down still exists.”

Gladio shifted in his seat to look at Ignis, brow furrowed. Ignis slid a gloved hand along the controls, causing the shuttle to bank into a sharp turn. When they leveled out, the massive floating complex of the Citadel was visible far off in the distance.

“I kinda don’t have the option. What am I gonna do, enlist back in the Glaive and keep fighting losing battles and watching my friends die? It’s two really shitty choices, but coming with you and the Prince is the less shitty of the two.”

“Would that we had any better choices available to us, Gladio. I would gladly offer them to you. To us,” Ignis said quietly.

Gladio trailed off. He bit the inside of his cheek. How much of the truth was he willing to give?

“Going back to the original question: do I trust _you_? Mostly. I wish I could say yes flat out, Iggy, but there’s some weird secret shit going on that you’re not telling me. However, you’ve been by my side through all this shit, everything from watching me puke my guts out to being patient with me while teaching me the new hardware. Part of me says you’re just doing your fucking job, but my instinct says you’re a good, caring person. So, the answer is mostly. I _mostly_ trust you.”

A few minutes passed in silence before Ignis spoke. “I believe that’s the most I’ve heard you speak in one sitting.”

Gladio laughed despite himself. “You got no one but yourself to blame. That’s what happens when you ask me for the truth.”

Were it not for his augmented hearing, Gladio might have missed the tiny sigh Ignis gave, but he didn’t. “Gladio… on the day with the gravity enhancer, you asked me to let you in. If I was with you.”

“Context, but yeah, I did.”

“Please believe me when I say if I were able to tell you the whole truth about myself, I would do so in an instant. But some truths do not belong entirely to one person, and this is one such example. It has no bearing on our mission,” Ignis said with a rueful purse of his lips.

“That’s more than you’ve given me so far, so I’ll take it. I’m not fucking stupid, you know,” Gladio said, bumping a feather-light fist against Ignis’s shoulder.

“I’m well aware of how intelligent and capable you are, Gladio, despite your consistent use of vulgar language. You keep demonstrating those traits time and time again.”

Gladio turned to look out the window, hiding the flush that crept into his cheeks at the words. He hadn’t remembered blushing so easily before. “You build me up just to knock me down, Iggy.”

“Never,” Ignis said with a sketch of a grin. “Gladio… all that I know about you, all that I’ve seen from you, leads me to the same conclusions. I trust _you_. I believe in _you_ , without reservation. One day, I hope to earn your trust and friendship in return. But for the present I promise you that, in your words, I’m with you.”

Gladio cleared his throat. “Shit, Iggy. Some speech.”

“I’ve had quite an extensive amount of practice writing them.”

“Annnnnnd there goes the moment,” Gladio said with a laugh.

“To which moment are you referring?” Ignis asked in a too-innocent voice.

* * *

Gladio hadn’t set foot in the Citadel in over a year, but even if he lived or worked there, he didn’t think it was possible to tire of its magnificence. In addition to being the home of King-Elect Regis Lucis Caelum and his son, Crown Prince Noctis, it housed the Interplanetary Parliament and boasted the most advanced defensive capabilities in the system. The entire Citadel complex could be flown and relocated if the need arose, though Gladio suspected they were royally fucked if it ever came to that.

At the moment, Gladio was far more interested in the reactions of passersby than the magnificent black, blue and silver architecture. As soon as they’d taken the aerolift from street level to the first floor of the Citadel, Ignis’s entire demeanor had changed.

He’d drawn himself up to his full height, back ramrod straight, and his normally neutral expression had a distinct chill to it. With his chin tilted upwards, hands clasped behind his back, and doing the best damn murder walk Gladio had ever seen, even he felt a little intimidated by Ignis’s presence. Only a little, though.

“Damn, Iggy. You look like you’re about to cut someone’s heart out and eat it,” Gladio mumbled, the words pitched so low he wasn’t sure if Ignis heard.

Ignis’s murmured response was probably only audible due to Gladio’s augmented hearing. “Some reputations, Gladio, are worth cultivating.”

A few people dressed in what Gladio recognized as Intelligence uniforms flat out stopped and bowed as Ignis passed, bows that Ignis acknowledged only with a miniscule tilt of his head.

“God, that’s it. _That’s_ your secret. You do the fucking Crown’s wetwork. A Niff doesn’t cooperate during interrogation out come the knives, off go the fingers.”

Gladio watched Ignis’s jaw twitch, heard the huff of a held back laugh. When Ignis looked up at Gladio, the arch of his eyebrow was sharp enough to cut. “Stop.”

He shrugged and resumed his at-ease walk, one step behind Ignis so he could follow where Ignis led. Several elevators and pathways later, he stopped outside of a locked set of plain, black doors.

“His Highness awaits us in the training arena—His Majesty is regretfully and unexpectedly occupied. You expressed hesitation when we spoke of a combat demonstration earlier, so I wanted to ensure that you’re willing to proceed,” Ignis said.

Gladio nodded. “In the theme of the day, I’m as ready as I’m gonna be. Time to see what this shit can do.”

Ignis gave him the barest hint of a smile before punching in an obscenely long passcode on the panel beside the door. Once the sequence had been entered, the door slid open without a sound.

Gladio couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he took in the training arena. He’d trained at the Academy in similarly designed spaces, but none quite as large as this one. The simple outline of a sparring circle illuminated the black floor with glowing white lines. Gladio recognized the squat grey box that housed a Manipulator on the opposite wall, devices that allowed the terrain of the arena to be changed according to user preferences. A shooting range with more guns than Gladio could shake a stick at was tucked in a back corner of the room. A recessed, grid-like structure housed black squares that Gladio assumed expanded into more traditional weaponry.

Once he finished cataloging the contents of the training arena, his eyes fell on none other than Crown Prince Noctis. Gladio was equal parts confused and relieved to find him leaning against a wall, the long black fringe of his undercut falling into his eyes as he tapped away on a comm. While he wore a three piece suit that was absolutely worth more credits than Gladio currently had in his account, his posture was slouched and shitty.

“Noctis,” Ignis said by way of greeting.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in, Specs,” the Prince said, straightening and shoving his comm into one of the pockets in his slacks. When he turned to regard Gladio, Gladio brought both fists to his chest and dropped into a deep, formal bow.

“Your Highness,” Gladio said.

“Please, no bowing. Or titles. Dad’s not here to impress, so you don’t need to stand on ceremony with me,” the Prince said.

“Sure, fine by me,” Gladio replied, relieved. He rose from his bow and found himself face to face with Noctis—well, as face to face as he got with anyone so much shorter than him. Gladio’s gaze caught on Noctis’s eyes, their irises twilight blue on the outside with a bright ring of magenta around the pupil. The Lucis Caelum eyes, up close and in person. “It’s nice to meet you, Noctis.”

“Likewise, Gladio. Specs has had nothing but amazing things to say about you, which is pretty damn surprising considering he’s Specs,” Noctis said with a lazy grin, folding his arms over his chest.

“ _Noct_ ,” Ignis warned, “Language.”

Gladio snorted a little laugh, which earned him the full regard of Ignis’s withering glare.

“I’m only here as a formality, really. I’ll stay out of your way and make sure you two don’t kill each other. Can’t really have a team if half of them get wiped out in a training accident,” Noctis said, his eyes going between Ignis and Gladio.

“Allow me to change and retrieve a few items, Gladio, then we’ll begin,” Ignis said. He didn’t wait for a reply before walking over to and disappearing behind a single door in the corner of the room behind Noctis.

Once Ignis was out of sight, Gladio began stripping himself of the outer layers of his Glaive uniform. Off came the gloves, then the knee length jacket, then the black and silver vest, leaving him with just his undershirt, belted pants and boots. Gladio flexed a hand experimentally while he considered the metallic black lines of his augments.

“Sorry about the sudden change in schedule. I know it would have been nice to have a bit more time to get things together, but the Empire has other plans, I guess,” Noctis offered, clearly attempting to make conversation.

“It’s no problem, Your… Noctis,” Gladio said, stuttering halfway between the Prince’s title and name. “Look, can I call you Noct? Flows better for me.”

“After everything you’ve been through, you can call me whatever you want. Just don’t let Ignis hear it if it’s rude. You don’t want that lecture, trust me,” Noctis replied.

Gladio laughed. The Prince wasn’t what he expected, but so far, so good. Ignis had mentioned in one of their idle conversations during workouts that Noctis was an incredibly skilled fighter, and Gladio found himself curious about his capabilities. Ah, well. He was sure he’d get the chance to see more than enough of it in the days ahead.

“I’m sure I don’t. Though, if you wanna know a secret, I swear like a fucking soldier around him and he hasn’t said a damn thing yet,” Gladio replied with a smirk.

Noctis actually laughed, a breathy sound with a surprising amount of depth. “Lucky for you, you don’t have Princely standards to uphold.”

“Damn straight,” Gladio agreed, rolling his shoulders.

Ignis returned halfway through Gladio’s warm-up stretches. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Ignis was dressed for the sheer purpose of throwing him off balance. He’d changed out of his suit into a synthweave jumpsuit with a liquid gunmetal shimmer, tight enough in most places to leave very little to Gladio’s already overactive imagination. Normally Gladio thought the things looked fucking ridiculous, but of course Ignis managed to look like he stepped straight out of the ad-cad for the manufacturer. 

It was extra unhelpful that Ignis had removed his visor, leaving his face bare. Gladio had never seen him without it and _holy shit_ , who knew translucent reinforced glass could end up hiding so much. Mint green eyes locked onto Gladio’s before giving him a knowing grin.

_He was doing this on purpose._ He had to be. Bastard.

“A few gifts for you, Gladio,” Ignis said, sauntering over (damn him) and extending his hands. He’d recognize the compact black squares anywhere, both engraved with his initials, one slightly larger with a handle.

“Sweet Gods above, my weapons,” Gladio said, reverent.

“The originals were lost, but while you recovered, we had replacements made,” Ignis explained, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “We wouldn’t ask you for a full combat demonstration without proper equipment.”

“Made some improvements, too. Prom came up with the idea for the gun form,” Noctis added from his place against the wall.

At the word ‘improvements’, Gladio struggled to contain a giddy rush of joy.

“Your sword and shield each have three separate forms now. The first is for close quarters combat with a sword and shield size of approximately a meter. The second is for mid-range and matches the specifications of your previous weapons. The third is for long range and situational use; the shield can be deployed in a standalone sphere, while the sword gains handles and increased energy generation capabilities for firing purposes,” Ignis said.

Gladio thumbed a switch on each module and watched as the sword and shield expanded into life. Apocalypse’s familiar black and red colours melded into a more compact blade which Gladio swung a few times. The multiphasic nanomachine shield resembled a shield from the knights of old mythology, modest in size but far easier to manipulate than the six meter monstrosity of the mid-range form.

“I can figure the rest out on my own, I’m sure,” Gladio said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Very well,” Ignis agreed. He lifted his hands and two daggers materialized in the same crystalline flash that Gladio had seen before. These daggers weren’t multiphasic—their titanium edges were real and sharp, their handles inlaid with gorgeous aquamarine gems. “Shall we agree the match to be decided by first to yield? I imagine trying to score by hit would be tedious given that both of us will have our full arsenals at hand.”

“I ain’t gonna be the one yielding, but sure. Agreed,” Gladio said. The first trickle of adrenaline began to seep through his veins, his eagerness for combat outstripping his earlier worries.

“I wouldn’t be so certain, Gladio,” Ignis replied, tapping the point of a dagger thoughtfully against his bottom lip and raising an eyebrow in Gladio’s direction.

Okay, he was _definitely_ trying to throw Gladio off balance with that suggestive shit, but it wasn’t gonna work.

“Oh, I _am_ sure. Any terrain preference?” Gladio shot back.

“Your Highness, what would you suggest for terrain?” Ignis turned towards Noctis to ask the question and Gladio made sure to keep his eyes above waist level.

Noctis waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever you think best.”

“With Gladio’s assent, perhaps we’ll leave it at the sparring circle. This purpose of this demonstration is to assess his new abilities and acquaint him with his new weaponry, not gauge his adeptness at dealing with different terrain.”

“Gotten plenty of that over the years already,” Gladio grunted. “Sparring circle is fine with me.”

Ignis took up the far position within the sparring circle, feet perfectly poised within the starting marker glowing on the black floor. Gladio stood opposite him, eyes narrowed and nerves buzzing with thrill.

“Remember, Gladio, you need but say ‘I yield’ and the match will end,” Ignis called from across the sparring circle.

“Not a fucking chance, Iggy.”

Someone—Noctis, Gladio thought—hit the buzzer that signaled the start of the match.

Ignis moved fucking _fast_ , faster than anyone Gladio had ever fought, except maybe Nyx with his damn warping. Gladio registered the silver blur of Ignis before his gloved hands bore down on him with both daggers, a vicious whirlwind of pointed blades probing Gladio for any opening in his defense. The blows didn’t have a lot of force behind them, but each one struck Gladio’s shield with an electric hum, the semi-transparent surface rippling each time the blades connected.

“Eventually you’ll have to attempt to land a blow,” Ignis said, his face as impassive as if he were talking about the weather, voice unstrained.

Gladio noted the electronic lights across Ignis’s eyes and had an instant to wonder why they were there before his attention was drawn by a pointed thrust against Gladio’s shield.

“ _Gladio_ ,” Ignis said firmly, delivering another overhand stab to his close-range shield, “Stop hesitating and start fighting.”

Gladio’s anger and his pulse began to soar in unison. Ignis wanted a fight? He wanted no holds barred? He was about to get it.

He swept his sword towards Ignis from the side, fast and efficient, the blade paper light in his hands. The whistle of its speed was a sweet song to Gladio, a sound he really fucking missed hearing. Ignis flowed out of the way like water, his body just… not there when Gladio swung. That was to be expected given his speed.

Gladio began his assault in earnest, brandishing his sword like he was trying to mete out a punishment. He expected Ignis to try to parry some of the blows with his daggers, but he avoided it, instead choosing to evade Gladio’s strikes. When he thrust the point of Apocalypse at Ignis’s chest, he slipped to the side before the sword even neared him. When he opted for a chopping motion, Ignis bowed under the blade with a mocking fist to his chest before it even got close. When he arced the blade from the floor upwards, Ignis fucking twirled out of the way like a ballerina, limbs graceful and unscathed.

It was starting to piss him off.

“No human moves this fucking fast,” Gladio spat through his teeth, still bearing down on Ignis’s evasive form. “You have goddamn augments, too.”

Ignis lifted one shoulder in a shrug before bending his torso backwards at an almost-impossible angle to dodge Gladio’s attack. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps you’re out of practice.”

“Bullshit,” Gladio replied, leaping for Ignis with his sword raised overhead. Before he could even get to where Ignis originally stood, the Operative threw his daggers into the air and launched in a series of back handsprings away from Gladio. When he rose from the final handspring, he lifted his hands and caught both daggers by the hilts, giving them a little twirl after.

“I’ve hardly broken a sweat, Gladio. Augments or no, I expected better.”

“Face me in hand-to-hand and say that after,” Gladio rumbled. He pressed the switch on Apocalypse that extended it into its traditional two metre length, staring Ignis down while he did. He turned off his shield and clipped the module to his uniform belt for later access, a gesture as familiar as breathing.

Ignis met his eyes and had the audacity to fucking _smile_.

“That’s more like it. Let’s not waste time with lesser toys,” Ignis said, dismissing the daggers in a flash of light. He lifted a hand and a polearm blinked into existence, dropping down into his waiting palms. “Try to keep up.”

Gladio, Ignis, and their blades collided in a shower of sparks, crimson and pastel blue auras bathing the sparring arena. Metallic clangs and electric hums sounded each time sword and polearm met, a punitive rhythm to which Ignis set the pace. Gladio hated to admit that it was taking most of his attention just to keep up with the long blade of Ignis’s lance; Apocalypse responded to his body easier than ever before with his newfound strength, but Ignis’s reflexes and speed were a deadly combination.

“When will you—” Ignis started, thrusting the point of his lance up towards Gladio’s navel, “let _go_ , Gladio?” Beads of sweat dripped down his cheek, along his neck, but Gladio had no time to admire the sight as he kept up with the assault.

“You want me to let go?” Gladio hissed back, lashing out at Ignis with a two handed swing. Ignis had to raise his polearm in both hands to parry the blow. “Here’s me letting go, _Ignis_.”

Rather than aiming at Ignis’s body, Gladio aimed for the Operative’s weapon and bore down with all his strength. Whether Ignis didn’t expect it or didn’t have time to react, Gladio wasn’t sure, but the polearm shattered in a spray of crystalline shards. In the space of a breath, Gladio switched to a one handed grip, lifted Ignis off the ground by his shirt with his free hand, and _hurled_ him towards the opposite wall of the arena.

Ignis went flying through the air, a silver streak across the arena. Gladio watched in horror at his loss of control. The horror lasted all of a second as Ignis _shifted_ midair, positioning his limbs so that they were spread spider-like when his body reached the wall. Ignis pushed off from the wall, body twisting as he vaulted downward towards the floor. By the time he reached the ground—landing on his goddamn feet, of course—he had the halo of daggers conjured around him, the ones Gladio had first seen in his hospital room.

Holy _fucking_ shit. What _was_ he?

“Better,” Ignis said with a secretive smile. Then he raised his hands, his daggers moving in concert with his motions, and began to send them speeding towards the flabbergasted Gladio.

By reflex more than thought, Gladio triggered the sonic energy pulse of Apocalypse, the reddish wave sweeping up to meet the line of daggers Ignis had created from thin air. Pulse and daggers alike disappeared in a silent explosion, both forces losing their shape upon contact.

Gladio made his way closer to Ignis, step by painful step, using Apocalypse’s secondary function to destroy the phasic daggers Ignis sent his way. Ignis was noticeably slower when manipulating the projectiles—it would be Gladio’s only opening, if he could even fucking get there. He had no idea how long Ignis could keep up his side of the assault, but Gladio only had a few more pulses left in Apocalypse before the function would need to recharge.

Sweat plastered Gladio’s uniform to his body, his breath finally coming hard now. He was so close to Ignis, so close, but he would see it coming if Gladio simply lunged at him with his sword.

Then Gladio got an idea. Maybe a stupid one, but the only one he could think of.

As Ignis brought forth another series of daggers to launch in Gladio’s direction, Gladio unclipped his shield from his belt and activated its smallest form. And then he threw it at hard as possible, straight towards Ignis. Gladio was rewarded with a flicker of surprise in Ignis’s gaze when the shield slammed into his body, causing him to lose his balance and disrupting his concentration enough to leave the daggers hanging mid air.

Gladio abandoned Apocalypse, letting it clatter to the floor, and leapt towards Ignis. Their bodies crashed into one another as they rolled halfway across the arena, driven by the strength in Gladio’s leap. Once they stopped moving, Gladio grappled Ignis and pinned him to the ground by placing a hand on each of his shoulders, one knee wedged between Ignis’s thighs. He was trying to think about anything besides how _good_ Ignis smelled, the clean musk of sweat mingling with some kind of subtle cologne wafting towards him at this distance.

“So, Iggy, do you yield?”

Ignis’s eyes glittered with an emotion close to triumph, which Gladio found fucking odd since he wasn’t the one being held to the ground.

“I don’t know, Gladio. Do you?” Ignis asked, arching an eyebrow to accompany his tiny smirk.

Gladio looked over his shoulder to see a cluster of daggers hovering above his back, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, and began to laugh.

“I guess we’ll call this one even, then?” Gladio asked.

“I suppose it must conclude in a draw,” Ignis agreed.

He withdrew from Ignis and stood, offering a hand down to the Operative. After a few seconds of consideration, Ignis accepted, his grip firm as he pulled himself off the floor using Gladio’s hand.

“So, did I pass the test?”

“Aside from your hesitation, yes. You’ve come quite a long way from that first week of broken furniture and full body muscle spasms,” Ignis said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his eyes. “Obviously bearing your full capabilities on me would result in serious injury or death, but I’m pleased at the result nonetheless.”

“It’s a shame we won’t be able to do that again. I’d love a chance to figure you out, Iggy,” Gladio said.

The furtive glance Ignis gave him made Gladio’s heart skip several beats in quick succession, much to his dismay.

“You may yet get your chance.”

* * *

After a brief conversation with Prince Noctis—Noct—which consisted of ‘that was _awesome_ ’ several times in a row with no further critique, Ignis changed back into his uniform and offered to show Gladio to his rooms for the evening.

“That would be great, thanks. Please tell me there’s some clean clothes in there that I can change into before the debriefing in a few hours,” Gladio said, smiling.

“Everything’s been arranged,” Ignis replied. With his suit and visor back on, the Operative persona was back in place as well.

As Ignis led him through the grid-like passages of the Citadel, his thoughts drifted to their fight.

“Did my performance earn an answer about the augments, at least?” Gladio prodded.

“I wouldn’t want to strip the mystery away so soon in our working relationship,” Ignis replied, face blank.

Gladio’s mind picked out the word ‘strip’ from that sentence, worked it over in his mind with a series of images featuring Ignis’s naked and toned body, all of them far too explicit to be contemplating in broad daylight. Grimacing, he shoved the thoughts aside.

“Gods, you know every fucking thing about me. You have a shitting dossier as thick as my—” Gladio almost said ‘cock’ before reconsidering, “Wrist. Can’t I know one fun fact about you?”

Ignis sighed. “Are you going to continue with this line of questioning until you receive an answer?”

“Probably,” Gladio said with a laugh.

“Yes, I’ve also undergone augmentation procedures, and no, I will not tell you which ones.” Seeing Gladio’s indignant expression forming, Ignis continued. “Not because I don’t want to tell you, but because I’ve been commanded not to. Information is power, after all, and the less people who know, the better.”

“Really?” Gladio challenged, not bothering to keep the disdain from his voice.

“Truly. Regardless if I agree or not…” Ignis trailed off, his head whipping to one side.

“Gladio? What the hell you doing here?” a familiar voice asked.

Gladio had been so entrenched in his conversation with Ignis that he hadn’t noticed the black-garbed guard stationed to the side of the Guest Wing entrance, let alone that the guard happened to be Nyx. Gladio doubled back a few steps to draw Nyx into a brief hug, thumping him on the back a few times.

“Do you ever check your fucking comm? I sent you a message hours ago,” Gladio said with a smile. Nyx returned the smile until his gaze fell on Ignis, the smile burning to ash like paper in a flame.

“Ulric,” Ignis said coolly.

“Operative Scientia,” Nyx replied, lending it all the acerbity of a swear. His piercing blue eyes returned to Gladio. “Been on the morning shift with no break, so no comm. What’s going on?”

“I’m off world tomorrow,” Gladio said, lips drawing back in a rueful grimace. “Think I can see you tonight?”

Nyx’s eyes drifted back to Ignis, but his words were addressed to Gladio. “Thought you had weeks.”

“Me too,” Gladio replied, “But I don’t. You free tonight or not?”

“Maybe. Supposed to pull a double shift today, but I’ll see if I can switch with someone. Probably have to sell a fucking kidney to pull it off, but I’ll try my damndest,” Nyx said.

“Gladio, we must be on our way,” Ignis said, features schooled into utter impassiveness.

“He’s right, un-fucking-fortunately. Long meeting ahead and I am in bad need of a shower,” Gladio admitted.

“Okay,” Nyx agreed, eyes honed in on Ignis. “Don’t let them pull the leash too hard. Woof, woof.”

Gladio bumped his fist against Nyx’s shoulder. “I’m usually the one doing the pulling, but I’m doing alright so far. Catch you tonight, hopefully.”

Nyx’s eyes were like a chill on the back of Gladio’s neck until he was out of sight. Ignis was silent the rest of the way to Gladio’s rooms.

And Gladio, well, he had no fucking clue what that whole exchange had been about, and he wasn’t gonna try to sort it out. He had way too much other shit to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for sticking with me on this project of passion. The positive response has been so overwhelming, and I cherish each and every comment and kudos! <3
> 
> Stay tuned for the start of a series of one shots set in the Artificial universe before the events of the main story...


	5. Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio finds out exactly what he's gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna), who makes my writing 100 percent better. Any remaining mistakes are on me.

“You stupid piece of _shit_.”

Gladio glared at the washroom’s vibrocleanser and gave its broken exterior another whack for good measure. He’d been hoping for a regular old soap and water shower, but nope, of course the Citadel guest rooms had to be outfitted with fucking tickle tubes. Sure, it was more efficient in theory to get blasted by vibrations for a minute and a half to get clean, but not if you were more than two meters tall with strength augments coming out your damn ass. And ticklish. And uncomfortable with being squeezed into tight spaces as a general rule.

At least he’d gotten clean before breaking the thing. As Gladio pulled on a pair of fresh uniform pants that had been waiting for him in his quarters, he mentally deducted credits from his account. He’d left his comm outside with his weapons, but he guessed he was running late due to the latest broadcast of ‘Watch Gladio Unintentionally Fuck Up Inanimate Objects.’ Ignis would be here any minute to fetch him for the debriefing.

He bet Ignis _only_ used vibrocleansers. They seemed like his kind of thing—quick, efficient, to the point. Which was a damn shame, really, because Gladio also bet he’d look pretty fucking good stripped of those fancy suits and under…

Nope, not gonna keep travelling along _that_ flight path. Get your hormones under control, Gladio thought, preferably before going to a long ass meeting where the Lucian Coalition tells you why the fuck they brought you back from the dead in the first place.

A pleasant bell sounded outside the washroom door, which prompted Gladio to crack the door open.

“Yeah?” Gladio called, searching for the rest of his clothes and finding them missing. No, not missing, just beside his comm and weapons on the slender leather couch. God, he was all sorts of disorganized today.

“Gladio, may I come in?” Ignis asked over the intercom.

At least he’d had the courtesy to ask. Ignis probably had the overrides to every room in the entire Citadel given his position. Gladio made sure to close the washroom door behind him, hiding the evidence of his crime. “Sure thing.”

Gladio told himself he wouldn’t look at Ignis, would keep his back to him while he got the rest of his uniform on, but that was a lost fucking cause. Gladio hadn’t been able to stop looking at Ignis since those initial, excruciating moments of his new life. Immaculate hair, black suit pressed into sharp lines, gleaming silver gloves, glowing visor, perfect posture…

“Have you decided to attend the debriefing in a state of undress?” Ignis asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Shit, he’d been staring. “Uh, no. Not this time, anyway.” Gladio busied himself with dressing.

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ve no wish to resuscitate any awestruck bystanders who succumb to cardiac arrest on the way to the throne room.”

Once Gladio finished pulling his shirt on and started on the vest, he turned to Ignis, raising an eyebrow in his direction. It wasn’t nearly as expressive as Ignis’s, but he reckoned it got the point across. “Are you tryin’ to make a joke about my good looks?”

“I thought the attempt to be rather successful,” Ignis replied.

“Yeah, I hear the zombie cyborg look is real fuckin’ hot these days,” Gladio said, sitting on the couch and beginning to lace up his boots to avoid Ignis’s gaze. Had he, in a roundabout and shitting understated way, just told Gladio he was still good looking?

“Gladio, willful ignorance doesn’t suit you,” Ignis said. “I know for a fact that your eyesight is flawless. Were we possessed of more time, I suspect you would find no shortage of… evidence... that your augments have not marred your attractiveness.”

Gladio’s hands fell still on the laces of his second boot. The way Ignis’s accent had rolled over the word ‘evidence’ was doing some strange fucking things to Gladio’s pulse. He wanted to ask if Ignis would be included in that evidence, but better to leave that door as firmly shut as the one hiding the busted vibrocleanser.

“Huh,” Gladio grunted. He finished lacing his boots, shoved his comm in his pocket, and clipped his weapons to his belt. Gladio debated wearing the jacket to hide the augments, but fuck it. Let His Majesty and everyone else see what they’d done to him. “So you have medical training, or just the basics?” Gladio asked, steering the subject to less hazardous terrain.

“I’ve undergone extensive training in both field and general medicine,” Ignis replied. He gave Gladio a full-body once over. “Shall we depart?”

“Of course you have. Of course.” Gladio would eventually find the one thing Ignis fucking Scientia couldn’t do, but today was not that day. “Let’s split.”

* * *

Gladio didn’t consider himself the kind of guy easily swayed by the trappings of royalty and prestige and fanciness, but he was mildly astounded as he and Ignis ascended the Citadel. The higher they went, the more guards and more checkpoints they cleared, the less and less people they saw. Each checkpoint required Ignis to provide Gladio’s weapons clearance since he didn’t have it loaded onto his ident-chip himself, which was annoying but better than leaving the weapons behind.

He chalked up his anxiety about the upcoming meeting to a lot of things, the biggest one being that Gladio had gotten used to being in the know and calling the shots. Granted, it had only been for his small, elite unit of the Kingsglaive, but Gladio liked having the whole picture. He liked at least knowing the risks before saying fuck it and going against the odds anyway.

Ever since he’d woken up—been revived—he’d felt vaguely lost. Felt like he was trying to avoid being sucked into a black hole of negative shit. Ignis helped, but Gladio wasn’t sure how much of that was him clinging to the only stable thing in his life since… well, since his death. His rebirth? Who fucking knew. He’d seen Nyx and Iris again, but not his dad, or his unit, and now he was getting hauled off into space with barely 24 hours of notice. How was he expected to be at his best when he didn’t even fucking know what his best was?

When he didn’t know _what_ he was. _Who_ he was. Not anymore.

“Gladio?” Ignis’s tone held a rare, gentle note.

Glancing around, Gladio noted they were alone, stopped at the beginning of a long hallway. Given the Lucis Caelum sigil inscribed on the massive doors at the end of the hallway, Gladio guessed that was the last segment of their trek to the top of the Citadel.

“Yeah?” The word came out more gruff than Gladio meant.

“Would you like a moment before we ascend? I realize this must be quite daunting,” Ignis asked.

Gladio glanced down to see Ignis’s gloved fingertips resting against his bare elbow. Between the nanocarbonite of his augments and the leather of Ignis’s gloves, he couldn’t actually feel the touch all that much, but the fact that it happened at all steadied Gladio. He didn’t know if it was good or bad that Ignis’s touch obliterated his doubt like an emotional EMP. At the very least, he was beginning to think that Ignis’s presence was dangerous in more ways than one.

“Don’t wanna be late. I’ve got my shit under control, don’t worry,” Gladio said.

“Very well,” Ignis agreed and started down the hall.

When they stepped inside the final aerolift, Gladio reconsidered his assertion that he had his shit together. Fuck, he hadn’t been this nervous since his first days at the Academy, green as hell with a metric fuckton of expectations to live up to because of who his father was. Ignis’s gaze was locked onto him, all intense and probing and _Ignis_ , but Gladio stared at the glowing control panel of the aerolift instead.

One foot in front of the other, Amicitia. One foot in front of the other.

Gladio expected to see the throne room itself when the aerolift doors whirred open. Instead he was greeted by the sight of one more glossy, jet black hallway with a single woman and a massive scanner at the end of it; the throne room lay beyond the scanner, breathtaking even in the small pieces that Gladio could see. Ignis strode out of the aerolift with the measured steps of someone who knew exactly where the fuck they’re going, and Gladio was content to follow along.

Ignis paused beside the woman, giving her a nod. “Lieutenant Elshett.”

The woman saluted in Ignis’s direction. “Operative Scientia.” She turned to regard Gladio. Gladio placed her in her early 30s, her short ash brown hair neatly clipped into a bob. “And you must be Glaive Lieutenant Amicitia.”

Gladio smiled. “I was. Not sure if the title applies anymore, so just Gladio’s fine.” He gestured to the two modules clipped on his belt. “You need these?”

Lieutenant Elshett turned to study a monitor attached to the imposing scanner. Gladio watched as an information panel changed colours from red to green, presumably because of whatever Ignis had been doing the entire way to the throne room. “You’re golden. Please go on through.” She paused for a moment and gave Gladio a knowing smile. “And you can call me Monica.”

Gladio winked at her before following Ignis into the throne room proper.

He’d seen the throne room during vid-calls with his father before, but seeing it in person was a different beast entirely. The domed ceiling was so high that it felt light years away from his position. Gladio had never realized that the opaque panels visible from the Citadel’s exterior were transparent on the inside; the orange glow of sunset and the shimmer of the Planetary Defense Shield combined to form a truly breathtaking sight above him. The interior looked much the same as the rest of the Citadel, polished royal black accented with gold instead of silver.

The throne rested on a modest dais near the back of the room, a floating set of crystalline stairs leading to the seat itself. Gladio remembered watching his father ascend those stairs when he was much younger, their panels bursting into light each time they were stepped on. The throne itself was a carryover from Lucian antiquity—or so the historical texts that Gladio had read claimed—its grand surface covered in geometric patterns and flanked by two burnished gold statues of women reaching towards one another.

Gladio found Prince Noctis waiting a little ways beyond the main entrance, hands clasped behind his back. He stood beside a circular structure covered in various panels and monitors, one that Gladio recognized as housing for the sophisticated computer systems that ran their everyday life. A holographic projection of starsystem Eos floated above the center of the device.

Noct grinned as he saw Gladio and Ignis approach, an expression at odds with his formal attire and proper posture. “Hey, Specs, Gladio,” he said in greeting.

“Hey,” Gladio said. His eyes fell on the silver shoulder cape draped over Noctis’s suit from earlier and he couldn’t resist commenting. “Nice cape.”

Noct rolled his eyes. “Full formal dress. You know how it is.”

“Yup. I do,” Gladio agreed.

“Your Highness,” Ignis replied smoothly after taking a position on Noct’s right side. “Has there been any word from His Majesty?”

Gladio had no fucking clue where to stand or what to do with himself, so he defaulted to standing next to Ignis, which seemed to be okay since no one said otherwise.

“Yeah, he said to patch him through once everyone’s here,” Noct said.

“And where, pray tell, is Mr. Argentum?” Ignis asked, arching an eyebrow in Noct’s direction.

“He… might be running a little late?” Noct offered, running his hands along the comp-station and avoiding Ignis’s gaze. “You know he always gets extra held up when he has to come up here.”

“Noctis, I specifically provided clearance authorization for Prompto to each security station en route to the throne room,” Ignis said, tone sharpening. “There should be no cause for delay.”

“He… might have… forgotten the exact time of the meeting? But he comm’d me a few minutes ago and said he was almost here, so…” Noctis said.

“Perhaps I should provide him with additional incentive to make haste,” Ignis suggested.

This conversation was giving Gladio some serious fucking doubts already. What kind of soldier couldn’t make it on time to a meeting with the shitting King-Elect, Crown Prince, _and_ Head of Intelligence of the Lucian Coalition?

“No, no, he’s good, he’s definitely good. He’ll be here any sec,” Noct said. “Actually, look, there he is now.” Noct pointed to the security station he and Ignis had passed through several minutes ago.

A slender, wiry blonde bristling with guns, piercings, and two full sleeves of tattoos hustled up to the final security checkpoint, waving towards the interior of the throne room before turning to Monica. _That_ was the fourth member of whatever the fuck mission they were about to embark on?

Gladio watched the tattooed blonde begin to strip himself of the myriad guns strapped to his body. Through his annoyance at being made to wait for the young man’s arrival, Gladio found himself begrudgingly impressed. If his count was accurate, he was at 18 guns and counting, including a long and vicious sniper rifle half as tall as Prompto was. When he started to pull smaller handguns out of a holster he had strapped under his Coalition-issued vest, Gladio fought back an impressed whistle.

“Prompto, why must we go through this every single time? Just because you’ve been granted permission to carry weapons in the Citadel doesn’t mean you have to carry every weapon you own through the Citadel.”

The blonde leaned forward as he tugged a third gun free of his vest. Holy shit, Gladio thought, why didn’t he store them as modules?

“Hey, so, do you remember that one time the Empire sent a sleeper android wearing synthskin to attack His Royal Highness? And the part where they got through the security since they could minimize their heat signatures and avoid detection? And the part where I pumped them full of plasma and titanium before anyone else could so much as sneeze?” He brought his pale hands together in a crude imitation of a pistol and jerked them back like he was firing a shot towards the woman.

“Yes, Argentum, I remember because you tell that story every... single... time your presence is required in the throne room,” the woman replied.

Gladio was still in the process of figuring out the line in order to toe it, but he was pretty sure the cheeky grin Prompto gave bordered on insubordination. “It’s a pretty awesome story. Don’t be jealous, Monica.”

“I’m not jealous,” Monica said in a tone of long-suffering, “I just want you to relinquish your weapons so I can let you in the throne room.”

“Even the one in my pants?” Prompto asked, fingers hovering around the waist of his leather leggings.

Gladio coughed into a fist and hoped it disguised his laughter. It wasn’t behavior he would have tolerated from his soldiers, but since Prompto wasn’t his soldier, he found it pretty fucking hysterical.

“You’re three nanoseconds away from getting dismissed with reprimand, Argentum,” Monica snapped.

“Gods, Monica, you have a dirty mind. I was referring to this,” Prompto said, reaching behind him and pulling a final firearm that was tucked into the waistband of his pants. “That should be everything. I think.” He gave a tiny waggle of his fingers at Monica as he passed through the scanners without raising any alerts. The doors closed behind him once he was fully through.

_Shitting Astrals_ , what a team this would make.

Much to Gladio’s dismay, Prompto bounded—practically skipped—straight towards him once he was allowed into the throne room. The first thing Gladio noticed when Prompto looked up at him were the eyes. He must have had some kind of augmentation done to them, because they were an intense, ultraviolet shade of lilac. Honestly, the kid looked like a waif straight out of a dream junkie dive.

“Hiya. Prompto Argentum, ace sniper and mechanic, at your service!” Prompto chirruped, holding his gloved hand out.

Fucking hell. “Gladio Amicitia, but you probably already knew that.” He gave Prompto’s hand a firm and careful shake.

“How could I not? Dude, you’re like, a legend at this point. A phoenix from the ashes. Bam! Back from the dead and ready to kick some ass!” Prompto said.

“Prompto,” Ignis cut in, leaning forward to level a stern glare in Prompto’s direction, “I’m going to patch His Majesty in now. Please be aware that we’ll be discussing the importance of punctuality and timetables once the meeting concludes.”

“Understood,” Prompto replied, his enthusiasm dialed back several notches.

Ignis reached up and input a string of commands on the comp-station. Starsystem Eos disappeared and was replaced with a waiting screen that flashed the word ‘Connecting…’ in bright teal letters. After several minutes, a full colour projection of King Regis himself came to life above the comp-station. Gladio immediately sank into a deep bow as did the rest of his companions.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis said, face lowered.

“Please rise,” King Regis said, and Gladio obeyed. He looked much the same as Gladio had seen in the most recent vid-feeds, graying hair and regal cloak and gripping a cane. “It is a pleasure to see you all, though I wish it could be under far different circumstances.” The projection turned to Noctis with a warm smile and nod. “Son.”

“Dad.” Noct replied, serious and thoughtful.

King Regis focused his attention on Ignis next. “Ignis, could you please see to it that all confidentiality measures are enacted?”

“Affirmative, Your Majesty. All visual and auditory feeds to and from the throne room have been deactivated and all external Net and comm connections have been terminated. Silencers have been engaged. Shall I begin an overwrite of the access logs, or are the current measures sufficient?” Ignis asked.

Gladio felt an icy fear begin to grip his spine, a fear he hadn’t felt since the day he’d come to consciousness and been told he was a cyborg. What kind of crazy ass mission were they being sent on?

King Regis considered. “The current measures are sufficient. Thank you, Ignis.”

“At your service, Your Majesty.”

Regis’s projection turned to Prompto, and Gladio didn’t think he imagined the flicker of sternness that passed over the King’s features before smoothing out. “Mr. Argentum.”

“Your Majesty,” Prompto replied, equally flat. There was a fucking story there, Gladio was sure of it, but there’d be plenty of time to ask once they were in the black.

When King Regis directed the full force of his gaze on Gladio, he felt it like a physical weight despite the hologram. The Lucis Caelum eyes seemed more intense in King Regis’s face than they were in Noct’s, their blue on magenta filled with warmth and respect.

“Gladiolus. I regret that we haven’t had the chance to speak personally before this meeting, but let me take the opportunity now to express my deep gratitude and joy that you stand here among us today.”

Gladio swallowed hard, dropping into a bow to disguise the sudden nausea he felt. “Glad to be here, Your Majesty, though I ain’t sayin’ it’s been easy going.”

“I do not doubt that your path has been difficult, and I regret that I must ask you to continue on an even more treacherous one. Time is of the essence, so please allow me to explain the nature of your mission.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” What else could Gladio say? You didn’t exactly interrupt the King of the fucking Lucian Coalition.

“As you know,” Regis began, “The Niflheim Empire continues to push their expansion beyond their home starsystem and into starsystem Eos. I will be utterly frank: we are losing this war, and we _will_ lose this war if this mission fails. The Empire will not rest until every planet within their reach is dominated and enslaved.”

Well, Gladio thought, no big fucking surprise there. He felt like they’d been losing the war since he learned what the war was.

“The Interplanetary Parliament has begun to call for the surrender of the Lucian Coalition, and I understand why. The resources of the remaining free planets are taxed to their limits, including our own. Without the mandatory military service draft, Insomnia’s streets would be overflowing with refugees, and as it stands its a close thing. Despite our incredible and innovative advances in technology—of which you are an example, Gladiolus—we simply cannot compete with the volume of the Empire’s magitek production capability.”

Gladio wasn’t really hearing a solution in any of this, just more problems, but he nodded politely and continued to listen.

“This brings me to the crux of the mission. Long ago, the leaders of Lucis and Tenebrae suspected that one day, technology and ambition would combine to present a threat to the fledgling intergalactic community, whether from Niflheim or from some source unknown. A pact was created between the royal lines of both planets, the Lucis Caelums and the Nox Fleurets, and an Oracle.”

“An Oracle?” Gladio asked, dropping the honorific in his confusion.

“An ancient race of sentient machines, far older than the human mind can conceive of. Only one remains to our knowledge—LUNAFREYA. She instilled the Lucis Caelums with the power to awaken her and gifted the key to her sanctuary in Tenebrae to the Nox Fleurets. Before subsiding into dormancy to conserve her strength, LUNAFREYA promised that should the galaxy be in need, both bloodlines would feel her call, and if that call was answered, she would render her aid.”

“What the actual fuck?” Gladio asked, soft and bewildered. His mind spun so fast that he didn’t even recognize he’d just sworn at the King of the Lucian Coalition.

“Gladio,” Ignis said, a hint of warning in his tone, but King Regis just waved a hand.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, Ignis, and believe me, I said as much and more when we first became aware of this information,” King Regis said.

“So if we’ve just had a f…” Gladio paused, adjusted, “If we’ve just had an ancient, mysterious trump card hanging around…” He stopped again, trying to jam the words through his disbelief, “Why haven’t we used it before millions of people were slaughtered?”

“I only started having… dreams, visions, whatever you want to call them, about six months ago. Before that, we didn’t know about Luna either,” Noctis said, not meeting Gladio’s eyes.

Oh, this just kept getting better and better.

“ _Visions_?” Gladio prompted, eyes trained on Noctis.

“Luna… talks to me. She told me about her sanctuary, about the pact, about the Nox Fleurets. If we can make it to her in Tenebrae, she’ll give us the Astral Covenant and the location of her old station to upload it. It’s… like a programmable virus, I guess? Once we have it, we just have to fire it up and it’ll wipe out the entire MT army. Then the Lucian Coalition swoops in and finishes Niflheim off for good.”

Nyx hadn’t known how right he was when he spoke to Gladio. This was a really, really, really, _really_ fucking long shot.

“Okay,” Gladio said, trying to lean on his years of field commander experience and keep his composure, “I mean… shit. Back up. The Nox Fleurets… Tenebrae is under Niff control, has been for ages.” He’d heard the Nox Fleuret name before, and Gladio finally remembered where. “Hold the fucking comm. Isn’t Ravus fucking Nox Fleuret an Imperial General? If he has the key, we’re screwed.” 

“Ravus,” King Regis interjected, “has a sister by the name of Stella Nox Fleuret. She’s in possession of the key, is willing to give it to Noctis, and has been smuggled to the city of Altissia on Accordo. However, Ravus must also be privy to LUNAFREYA’s visions, because we’ve received word that Imperial forces are mobilizing towards Accordo as well. Hence our accelerated timetable.”

“So, lemme see if I’ve got this all straight in my head. Our mission is to get a key from an _Imperial General’s_ sister, that leads to a sanctuary _right_ in the middle of Niff fucking territory, to _maybe_ get an advanced weaponized virus from an ancient machine, which we then have to upload at a specific point Gods know where, and _then_ we have shot at ending this war?”

“As usual, you display a remarkable talent for getting to the crux of the matter, Gladio,” Ignis said drily.

“Also, uh, I need to stay alive. At least until we can get the Astral Covenant online. I’m the only one who can open the sanctuary and upload the virus. Because of the whole Lucis Caelum thing,” Noct added, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

Gladio looked at King Regis, sure that his shock was written all over his face but making no effort to hide it. “Your Majesty, you have to know that there’s a one in kajillion chance that we’ll be able to pull this off.”

“The facts have been considered, Gladiolus. Between an option with an infinitesimal amount of hope and an option with no hope at all, we must choose the former,” King Regis replied.

Now he fucking _had_ to ask, because there’s no way he was going to agree to this without an answer.

“Why me? Why me, of all the people in the galaxy? Why couldn’t you have left me dead and found someone else to go on this insane crapshoot of a mission?”

When King Regis smiled, it was filled with a sorrow as deep and fathomless as Accordo’s oceans. “Aside from the information I know Ignis has already provided? Forgive an old man’s folly, but my reason was simple: As I have trusted your father with my life for all these years, I felt I could entrust my son’s life to you.”

Gladio opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Okay.” A beat. “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. Please know I send you all on this mission with the heaviest of hearts. I only hope to buy the Coalition enough time for your success before Insomnia falls… or surrenders. Are there any other questions?” King Regis asked.

“No.” Noct.

“Nope.” Prompto.

“No, Your Majesty.” Ignis.

“In that case, the debriefing is adjourned and all but Gladiolus are dismissed. Noctis, we’ll speak later this evening as we agreed. Gladiolus, I have Clarus here and he wishes to speak with you, if you’re amenable,” King Regis said.

Gladio felt his chest tighten like a vice, squeezing the air out of his lungs and the blood out of his heart. He didn’t know if he could handle talking to his dad right now… but he had to try, didn’t he? Gladio glanced and saw Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis still clustered around the comp-station.

“Yeah, but… could I get a little privacy?” Gladio asked, rubbing the metal on the back of his neck with a single hand.

“Regrettably, we can’t allow the call to be taken outside of the throne room, nor can we allow you to stay in the throne room alone,” King Regis explained.

“Perhaps I could remain, Your Majesty, if it suits both you and Gladio,” Ignis offered.

“Agreed,” the King said.

“Fine by me,” Gladio added. He noticed belatedly that Noct and Prompto had already left the throne room proper, though Prompto was in the process of strapping all his guns back on in the entrance hallway.

“I’ll get Clarus now.”

Gladio watched as the hologram shimmered into nothingness as King Regis left the frame. Ignis also put some distance between himself and Gladio, moving to stand just inside the throne room to the left of the entrance. Gladio dimly appreciated his attempt at being considerate, though he knew Ignis would hear every word of the conversation anyway.

When Clarus appeared in place of King Regis, Gladio made an effort to relax the tension he was holding in his face. His father looked… well, _old_ , aged beyond his years. Gladio supposed he didn’t have any room to criticize given how different _he_ must look to his father; it still hurt to see his father reduced to a shadow of the man Gladio remembered.

“What in the universe did you do to your face, Gladiolus?” his father asked, squinting at him, and Gladio barked out a laugh in spite of himself.

“All the shit they did to me, and you pick the tattoo to harp on. Never change, Dad,” Gladio replied. “I guess you heard all of that fun conversation?”

“I did, as well as your usage of foul language around His Majesty. I taught you better than that, son.”

“You did, but maybe some of that training got scrambled when they brought me back from the dead,” Gladio said. Why had the statement come out so bitterly?

Gladio and his father looked at one another for a long, silent moment, a moment that stretched out as tangible as all the unresolved conversations between them.

“I… When they first told me what they wanted to do… I said no, you know. You left me with final authority in your will,” his father offered, chin tilted up and head high as always.

“I did, and I’ve been wondering about that. Kind of wish you had left it, to be honest, with the sh—stuff I’m signed up for now. What made you change your mind?”

His father paused. When he spoke again, Gladio heard the telltale thickness of his father’s voice that meant he was on the verge of tears. Gladio knew it so well because his own voice did the same fucking thing.

“What does any father want when told their son has died? I wanted the chance to say goodbye to you, properly, not find out you’d been killed in action without having spoken to you for months. I wanted the chance to see you again, to tell you how proud I am of you… to tell you how much I love you.”

Shit, now Gladio was crying too. He scrubbed the back of his face with a hand.

“Yeah, I love you too, Dad. Though I could have done with a comm instead of all the medical bullshit and augments.”

“They kept me updated during the process. Gods, each time a message came through on the comm I thought it would be the message telling me the reconstruction had failed. That you would be gone, truly gone, forever. And then they told me you’d regained consciousness, and…”

“Look,” Gladio said, interrupting his father, “You don’t have to explain. I was the one who agreed to it in the first place, so really, you were only following my instructions. I’m not angry with you about it, honest.”

His father gave a deep sigh before he spoke again. “Gladiolus… thank you. I was so afraid, so worried you’d wake up and hate me for the selfishness of what I’d done. For not letting you stay at rest.”

Ugh, his nose was getting all snotty now. Couldn’t they have taken his tear ducts away or improved those or something? Shitting augments.

“I’m still your son. Still love you. For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth everything to hear you say those words.”

Another stretch of silence which Gladio broke. “I know you probably gotta get going, and so do I, but listen—check in on Iris more often when you can, okay? I’ll try to comm her but she misses you a bunch. And try to answer my comms if I can get through, since I can’t make any promises about coming back this time.”

“Nor can I. Nor can any of us. Know that you go with my love, Gladiolus, however far this mission takes you.”

“You too, Dad. And no slacking off just because I’m off trying to save the universe.”

His father cracked a smile, which for him was basically a guffaw. Just before Gladio was going to ask Ignis to end the call, his father spoke again.

“One last thing. When you were… Before you woke up, did you see her? Your mother?”

The question rocked Gladio like losing the stabilizers on artificial grav. Gods, of all the things he’d been trying not to think of, his father had a way of hitting the worst one. He could lie, could make up some bullshit about how he saw his mother and she was serene and sent her love… but the truth was he hadn’t seen shit. Nothing but black until he opened his eyes and saw Ignis sitting beside him.

Gladio assumed he’d see nothing when he died again, whenever that was. Probably sooner rather than later. More fuel for him not being the religious sort, he supposed.

“Nah. Maybe I did and just don’t remember, but I didn’t. Wish I did, though. Woulda been nice.”

“Thank you. Take care, Gladiolus.” Stone faced as always, his father, even through tears.

“You too, Dad.”

The hologram winked out, leaving Gladio staring at the comp-station with a blank expression. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ignis move towards him, take up a position a careful arm’s length away. He wished he had half as good a poker face as the Operative version of Ignis.

“You don’t happen to have any tissues, do you?” Gladio asked with a grim chuckle.

Ignis slid a hand inside his jacket and produced a small package of tissues, handing them to Gladio without comment.

“You’re the best,” Gladio said. One undignified face cleaning later, he turned back to Ignis, eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw Ignis’s openly concerned expression. “You okay, Iggy? If you’re thinkin’ I’m gonna bail on the mission, you don’t have to worry. I still think it’s fucking impossible and we’ll all end up dead, but I’m on board.”

“I—” Ignis started. He broke off to adjust his visor with both hands before continuing. “My apologies if this is too personal in nature, but I find myself affected by seeing you in distress.”

Gladio laughed again, more from a desperate need for relief than finding Ignis’s statement funny. “Thanks, Iggy. Good to know you’re capable of normal, human reactions like being upset when your friend cries. I don’t know if this counts as distress, but if we get to that point, I’ll be sure to warn ya.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ignis asked. Gladio committed his concerned expression, the soft downward slope of his lips and eyebrows, to memory before it vanished. 

“Keep being yourself, I guess. It’s been working so far,” Gladio said with a feeble grin. “And maybe help me through the checkpoints down to ground level? Since you seem to have the fast track there?”

“Certainly.”

Gladio left the throne room with Ignis, walking by his side. Once they were in the aerolift, he pulled out his comm to find a message waiting from Nyx.

**N. Ulric (6:54PM):** who’s your favourite miracle worker??? Lemme know when you’re free and we’ll meet up. I’m down a kidney but available

His heart lifted then sank in quick succession. Knowing what he knew now… this was probably the last time he’d see Nyx. Ever. For the _second_ time.

Better not to think about it. Better just to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 If you feel up for it, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. <3 Things are about to get real, real soon. I hope I see you same time next week.


	6. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio receives a variety of gifts during his last night on Lucis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna), who tells me honestly when smut may or may not be appropriate. Any remaining mistakes are on me.

“Look, I dunno if you’re as ‘not good’ with surprises as I am these days, but I oughta give you a heads up—there’s a surprise.”

Gladio squinted at Nyx. He looked about as rough as Gladio felt, dark circles under his eyes and creases in the uniform jacket he had tucked under an arm. “I mean, I’ve had a lot of fuckin’ surprises lately. Tell me it’s the good kind, at least.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, scarface. It’s the good kind. The best kind, really. I’d be shocked that I was able to pull it off if I didn’t know how Gods damned amazing I am.”

“If I walk out to a sky deck full of strippers, I’m turning right back around and going the fuck to sleep,” Gladio said with a snort. He thought about hip checking Nyx and decided against it since he’d already had a run of bad luck with the augments today. Plus, he was getting tired, which meant less control, which meant more potential for broken bones instead of broken vibrocleansers. Much harder to fix, those.

Nyx’s delighted peal of laughter made Gladio’s mood lose altitude faster than a hoverbike out of fuel. “What if they were the _good_ strippers? Tall, lean guys and curvy, small ladies who can actually dance and _take_ off their clothing in an artful fashion?”

Gladio did hip check Nyx then, a cautious sway of pelvis that was still forceful enough to make Nyx lose his balance on his next step. “I’m not screwing around, Nyx. That’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Alright, alright. None of them would be Ice Prince Scientia anyway, so you probably wouldn’t be interested.”

Gladio clenched his teeth. He should have known some variant on this discussion was coming, but he didn’t expect it to be in the Citadel’s hallways. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I know they didn’t make you stupid when they stuffed you full of wiring and nanocarbonite and hormones,” Nyx shot back with a universally famous eye roll.

“If you got something to say, better come out and say it,” Gladio said. He didn’t want to argue with Nyx, not tonight, not when he was getting shot out into the black (and almost certain death) in the morning. But he felt his temper stirring, coiling around his guts like the metal of his augments coiled around his shoulders.

“Look, I saw you and the Ice Prince together for all of a minute and I can tell how bad you have it for him. If _Operative Scientia_ said kneel, you’d be on your knees faster than a heart attack. He’s just your fucking type too—deadly, gorgeous, and unattainable.” Nyx paused to wave a hand down the length of his body. “See exhibit A.”

If Nyx had been wrong, Gladio might have had an easier time putting a lid on his indignation. If Gladio hadn’t secretly fantasized about how that exact scenario would play out—him on his knees, one of Ignis’s leather-clad hands cupping the back of his shaved head, begging to be allowed to suck Ignis off—he might have been able to stop the flush that heated his face. 

Shitting Astrals, this was the problem with having a friend who knew him so well. Maybe better than he knew himself. 

“That’s a real fuckin’ high opinion of yourself you’ve got there, Ulric,” Gladio snapped, opting for tactical deflection.

Nyx shrugged, the gesture at odds with the sharp grin he wore. “In case you didn’t know, you’re blushing. Looks like they didn’t fuck that up that part of your face when they rebuilt you.”

“Shut _up_ , Ulric.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“ _Seriously_.”

Nyx was a persistent son of a bitch, but the edge to Gladio’s tone must have finally convinced him to drop it. “I’m not done on this subject, but you may be onto something. The walls have ears. And eyes. And weapons, probably.” Okay, convinced him to drop it for now.

One awkward security checkpoint later, Gladio and Nyx were on the final aerolift to their destination.

“Welcome to Sky Deck 9,” a cheerful, computerized voice chirped as the doors slid open.

Considering Gladio’d been in the throne room of the Citadel itself today, he shouldn’t have been so taken aback by the sight that waited for him. It wasn’t the sprawling technophile glow of Insomnia stretched out before him, or the iridescent shine of the Planetary Defense Shield backlit by distant stars, or the spectacular view afforded by their vantage point on the floating fortress.

It was the people.

“Crowe. Lib. Tredd. Livia,” Gladio said, frozen in place. The four raised their fists in a unified salute. Gladio couldn’t stop blinking, couldn’t stop scouring their faces, faces he’d only seen in nightmares since the day he died. God… it was so few compared to the initial size of his unit, but it was enough.

For the second time that day, Gladio found himself fighting back tears. 

“Surprise,” Nyx said quietly, placing a hand on Gladio’s back and urging him forward. “C’mon, they don’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crowe said, but the gibe was accompanied by a smile.

The combination of Crowe’s words and Nyx’s hand spurred Gladio forward, and soon the six of them were in one big cluster on the sky deck, laughing and grinning and ass slapping (Gladio excepted) like it was the first night of shore leave in happier times.

“How? I mean… not that I’m complaining, but...” Gladio asked once he was free of the tangle of uniformed limbs.

“Some higher up must really like you, LT, ‘cause they had to pull some serious strings to make this happen,” Libertus said. “After the mission where the unit went tits up, it got dissolved, and we were all assigned to other cells.”

Gladio shot Nyx a look, but Nyx was busy studying the sky and avoiding Gladio’s gaze. He made a mental note to press him for more details later, but for now…

“I just… shit. I don’t know what to say. I’m so fucking glad to see all of you, for starters,” Gladio said, grabbing Lib and Crowe and tucking them each under an arm.

“Astrals, LT, watch it. Not all of us have the most technologically advanced augments credits can buy,” Crowe said.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure credits could buy this shit. Or that anyone would want it if they could. And I’m not LT anymore, I think,” Gladio corrected, making a fist and rubbing it near the top of Crowe’s head, messing up her loose bun.

“You’re still LT to us,” Libertus replied, patting Gladio on his forearm.

“Ugh, stop, you’re getting all _brotherly_ on me,” Crowe complained, grinning as she maneuvered away from Gladio.

“Well, if everyone feels adequately introduced to the new and improved cyborg LT, can we get to the eating and drinking part? Because I’d really like to fuckin’ drink,” Nyx called over the noise of conversation.

Gladio saw the floating table and chairs he’d missed earlier, the table laden with an impressive spread of food and drinks. It was arranged close enough to the balcony of the sky deck to afford an impressive view of Insomnia. Gladio eyed one of the clear bottles with a very familiar blue and gold label, mouth watering.

“First dibs on the Duscaean _adolebitque_ ,” Gladio said.

“That’s the… spirit,” Nyx said over his shoulder with a roguish grin. Gladio didn’t bother to hide his groan.

As soon as Gladio started piling up a plate—going for the Galahdian skewers first because holy shit, he wasn’t gonna miss out on those for a last meal—the rest of his old unit joined in. It was a lot like mess hall back on the cruiser, hands and elbows everywhere, flowing around each other and passing items back and forth without being asked. It was also a lot nicer than mess hall back on the cruiser, what with the real food and the balmy summer night air and the freely flowing alcohol.

Gladio was content to listen to the conversations around him, conversations that centered around what had happened while he’d been ‘indisposed.’ If circumstances were different, he’d probably insist on them calling his death what it was, but he didn’t see much point given where he was headed in less than twelve hours.

They knew better than to ask about his mission, but they did ask about his recovery. Gladio still couldn’t think about the bioengineering wing without a wave of nausea overtaking him, or the image of a hundred plastic tubes attached to him. He kept the descriptions brief, and soon enough the talk drifted to other subjects.

He nursed his glass of _adolebitque_ in tiny, even sips. No use giving himself a hangover, no matter how appealing drinking until he couldn’t think anymore sounded at the moment. The smooth, slightly citrus, herbal taste of the liquor brought with it memories of happier times—of turning a blind eye to games of Cartanica strip poker, of quiet talks during routine weapons maintenance, of clustering around the QCN console for rare comms back home, of stolen kisses with Nyx in back alleys of remote outposts before he got his command. 

Gladio’s unit had always had a morbid sense of humor, especially given how seriously other Coalition members tended to regard the Kingsglaive Special Ops, and tonight was no exception. Gladio laughed until his stomach ached and tears leaked from his eyes.

“I said, look, you want this grenade to be stable, you have to give me at least ten more minutes and 30 more milligrams of stabilizing catalyst. Do you think that fucker listened? Nope! Came out of his foxhole short two eyebrows and pissed as hell,” Crowe said with a grin, tipping back her glass and finishing her drink.

“I bet you did that shit on purpose,” Nyx replied, perched cross-legged in his hovering chair and leaning forward across the table.

“ _If_ I rigged it to blow a little easier on a pressure trigger, who would blame me? Smug prick got assigned to our unit then tried to act like he ran the ship,” Crowe said.

“That’s our Crowe, doling out lessons the hard way or not at all,” Lib said.

“Damn straight,” Gladio and Crowe said at the same time, dissolving into laughter right after.

“Oh Gods,” Livia said, kicking her booted heels under the table. “He was so scared after that, I caught him running into the men’s washrooms just to hide from Crowe.”

More laughter rang out around the table, clear in the crisp night air.

“Shit, wish I’d known that,” Crowe started, “because I would have made it a point to chase his ass around the cruiser for an entire week. Whatever happened to that guy, anyway?”

“Got reassigned to another Glaive unit once he was booted from ours,” Lib said. He grimaced as he added, “Saw his name in the Graveyard the other day when I was doing my weekly check.”

“Fuck,” Nyx offered. He’d started sipping straight from a sleek metallic bottle—Gladio couldn’t blame him—and he raised it over the middle of the table. Five other containers knocked against Nyx’s as everyone drank deeply. 

The hour grew late and the conversation began to wind down. Plates and bottles alike sat empty on the table in abandoned piles. The triple moons of Lucis made a graceful arc high in the sky beyond the Planetary Defense Shield. People had started to shift in that way that suggested that a gathering was coming to an end, signaled by bodies facing the aerolift, by uniform jackets being put back on, by small cleanup efforts to smooth the way for staff later. Tredd and Livia left first to make it in time for their overnight shift, but not before giving Gladio two monster hugs that rivaled his own for intensity.

Gladio wished he could slow time to eke out just a few more hours. Better yet, he wished he could spool it backwards as easily as he could rewind a vidfeed. There was no point in telling his unit he wasn’t coming back from this one, not when they’d already had to go through losing him once. Not when he’d already had to go through losing them once.

Death upon death upon death. He fucking hoped all of it would mean something, at the end. That the hologram corpses filling the servers of the Graveyard would amount to freedom from Niff enslavement.

If Gladio was honest with himself, he didn’t think it would.

“LT? You with us?” Nyx’s question drew Gladio’s attention back to the present.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, “I’m here. Just been a long bitch of a day.”

“Hear hear,” Crowe said as she slid from her floating chair. “Same here. We gonna do the presents now or what?” The question was directed to Nyx, who was currently chewing on his lower lip and playing with one of his braids.

“Right. Presents. Yeah, let’s do it,” Nyx said, hopping up to join Crowe and Libertus.

Gladio narrowed his eyes. “You guys know how I feel about gifts.”

Nyx scoffed. “And you know how we feel about the whole dying and living and maybe dying again thing, so deal with it. Consider it the universe’s most fucked up birthday slash going away party.”

Nyx had him there, so Gladio relinquished his right to any further protests he might have made.

“I’ll get mine out of the way first. It’s not exactly the most creative,” Lib said, ducking and pulling a medium sized box from under the table that Gladio hadn’t noticed before. He picked it up and walked over to Gladio to hand it to him. “A whole case of instant noodles for ya. Be sure to hide them good. Don’t want a repeat of Duscae, do we? Poor sod.”

Gladio laughed. Laughing was easier than giving in to the sorrow that had begun to bleed deep and dark in his chest. “Hey, don’t fuck with my food, I don’t fuck with you. Pretty simple rule, especially when we were down to paste, pills, and prayers.”

“Atta boy. Take care of yourself, LT, wherever you’re going. I’m real glad we got to see you again.” Libertus thumped Gladio on the back a few times. If he hurt himself on Gladio’s new metallic carapace, he didn’t show any outward signs.

Crowe approached him next, brushing strands of chestnut hair away from her face. She rifled through her jacket pockets for a minute before producing a transparent cylinder the length of her palm.

“I didn’t get a tattoo like some idiots,” Crowe said, rolling her eyes towards a grinning Nyx, “But I thought about you a lot after that mission. You could be a hardass… can be a hardass… but it was always obvious you cared about us. I remembered all the times you listened to me blather on about aetherochemical reactions and elemental grenades and my theories on the weird shit His Majesty and His Highness can do.”

“Getting to the point tonight would be good, Crowe,” Nyx said. He sat on the edge of the table itself now, swinging his legs back and forth.

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish, asshole,” Crowe said in an aside. To Gladio, she continued, “Anyway. I figured out how to get a continuous, self-sustaining flarechem reaction going without blowing up the containers themselves. Doesn’t need to charge and doesn’t require any external reagents.”

Crowe twisted the cylinder she held in her hands and it flared to life, bright red-orange light blazing forth with empyreal radiance. Its brilliance was powerful enough to draw tears from Gladio’s eyes, tears that were the result of physical stimuli instead of his reluctance to say goodbye. Again.

“What is it you used to say to us, LT? ‘Sometimes we’re the knife in the dark, sometimes we’re the light in the darkness.’” Crowe said, twisting the cylinder again to dim it and handing it to Gladio. “For you, when you need a little light to guide the way.”

“Thanks, Crowe.” Gladio was proud of the steady way his voice sounded to his ears. It was a steadiness he didn’t feel, that he hadn’t felt since he’d gotten pieced back together, but Gladio could pretend. _Would_ pretend.

It was Crowe who wrapped her arms around Gladio first, her presence soft and soothing despite her fierce nature. “You’re welcome, LT. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“I wouldn’t fuckin’ dare,” Gladio replied.

Nyx hopped off the table, a chain already dangling from his gloved fist before he made it over to Gladio. Their gazes snapped together, blue-grey and amber each seeking the other from force of habit, and Gladio thought his strength might give out then and there. The sadness creeping through his veins took on a bittersweet edge. Why did everything have to be so fucking _difficult_?

“Before you give me shit about not being big on jewelry, hear me out on this one,” Nyx said. Before Gladio could accept or decline the gift, Nyx was on his tiptoes, slinging the chain over his neck.

A heavy, cool pendant rested at the end of the silver chain, right above Gladio’s sternum. He took it between his fingers and held it up to study it. The pair of stylized, filigree wings that overlapped one another felt surprisingly sturdy given the delicate lines of the metalwork. A pale blue gemstone that Gladio couldn’t make heads or tails of rested at the apex of the pendant where it attached to the longer chain of the necklace.

“So, you know the sky isles of Galahd, where I’m from. Where we’re from,” Nyx paused to study Gladio.

“I haven’t forgotten where you’re from, Ulric. For fuck’s sake,” Gladio said, still running his fingers over the pendant.

“Just checking. Anyway, the myths say that Galahd was inhabited even before all the terraforming and industrializing bullshit, and that said lucky inhabitants must have been able to fly. Regardless of if you believe there were people—creatures—there before us, wings became pretty fuckin’ symbolic. I mean, it’s a bunch of floating fucking islands, so you could see the appeal.”

“You goin’ anywhere with this? Gladio asked.

Nyx nodded, his expression serious. “On Galahd, it’s traditional to give someone a gift that has wings involved when they’re going on a long journey. Particularly a journey that’s long, or arduous, or you might not come back from. We figured all three probably applied in this case.”

Gladio looked from Libertus, to Crowe, to Nyx, finding the same solemn expression reflected in each unique face. He closed his eyes against the fiery sting of tears that pricked at the backs of his eyes.

“Lib’s wrist cuffs have wings engraved on the inside. Crowe’s got her earrings. I got ‘em tattooed. Figured you oughta join the club, since we kinda want you to make it back this time. Any little bit helps, yeah, even if it’s superstitious fuckery,” Nyx explained. He clapped his hand on Gladio’s shoulder, slid it to Gladio’s neck when he realized the augments kept him from touching skin.

“You fuckers,” Gladio said, tears forced from his eyes each time he blinked, “Get in here.”

How long the four of them stood in a huddle on the sky deck, Gladio couldn’t have said. He committed the moment to memory. He never wanted to forget the feel of Nyx and Libertus under his arms, of leaning down to touch his forehead to Crowe’s, of the tears everyone would deny in the morning because denial was easier than admission. It was enough to make him wish he remembered how to use his damn neurolink, to record this instant and replay it over and over again with perfect clarity.

But, Gladio thought, much like life, memories weren’t meant to be perfect.

Crowe and Libertus said their goodbyes, complete with lingering hands and extra hugs and false bravado. It was hard to watch them disappear into the aerolift, but Gladio figured it would have been a hell of a lot harder to _not_ watch them go.

“ _Pro aris et focis_ ,” Gladio whispered to their backs, except no one heard him say it.

* * *

Once they were alone on the sky deck, Nyx fixed Gladio with a sly grin. The antlers of his uniform hood caught the ambient light, glittering like stars in the night.

“How would you feel,” Nyx started, “About one more ride? For old time’s sake?”

Gladio’s mind worked the sentence around his mind in the same careful way he’d rotate the ammunition chamber on a plasma rifle. “Depends on what kinda ride we’re talkin’ about,” Gladio said cautiously.

“Now who’s the pervert?” Nyx asked, shoving Gladio in the chest. He pointed up towards a ledge on the exterior of the Citadel’s main structure. “I’ve had my eye on that parapet all night. Bet it’s a killer view if we phase up there, yeah?”

“Fuck, are you trying to kill me yourself before I can deploy? That the new plan?”

“C’mon, it’ll be _fine_. Long as you promise not to puke on me,” Nyx urged, wrapping an arm around Gladio’s waist.

Gladio sighed heavily. “That was one time.”

“Still hilarious. And disgusting.”

Gladio didn’t have time to raise an objection before they were shifting. Phasing evoked similar feelings in Gladio that being subjected to extreme G-force training did. Maybe it was more like being pushed from the top of the Gods damned Citadel to plummet to the ground below, but since Gladio had never actually had that happen to him, he couldn’t say. Either way, there was a distinct surge of nausea, then nothingness, then he and Nyx were standing many hundred metres above the sky deck.

“Fucking _shit_ ,” Gladio huffed, bracing his back against the wall and his hands on his knees, “I will never in a thousand fucking years get used to that.”

Nyx sank down to sit on the broad surface of the parapet, his feet hanging over the edge, palms flat on either side of him. “I’m telling you, you’re missing out. Beats running or climbing.”

“Some of us are just fine with good old fashioned running or climbing,” Gladio said. Once he was reasonably sure he’d avoid throwing up or having a heart attack, he settled down beside Nyx.

“Why the Coalition picked you of all people to imbue with the latest tech, I’ll never figure out. They’ve gone and made themselves a grandpa cyborg. They know you read genuine, one hundred percent tree-murdered books still?”

Gladio snorted. “Fuck off. If anyone’s the senior citizen around here, it’s you. You’re practically in your golden years with how fast the war’s sending people to early graves.”

“Don’t remind me, scarface. Don’t remind me.”

His best friend had been right about one thing, at least—the view was pretty fucking spectacular from this angle. It seemed like half of Insomnia sprawled out before them towards the distant horizon. Gladio wouldn’t think they were embroiled in a bitter war that spanned across an immeasurable number of light years looking at the thriving city below. He knew how close they were to watching the whole damn thing burn; how could he _not_ know after today? 

A sudden wind whipped up around them, strong enough to rustle jackets and send a chill across Gladio’s skin.

“Nyx, I…” Gladio began. How did he fucking say it out loud? That they were sending him on a suicide mission? That an ancient machine told the Crown Prince of the Lucian Coalition to visit her in Niff territory? That they brought him back to kill him again and he felt so fucking tired thinking about it that his soul ached?

Nyx saved him the trouble.

“You’re not coming back, are you.” Nyx, true to form, didn't bother making it a question. He didn't have to.

“No.”

“Figured as much. You’ll think you’ll be able to do whatever needs getting done?”

“Honestly… without breaching several hundred confidentiality clauses… no. But you know me. Gonna try like hell anyways,” Gladio answered.

Nyx pursed his lips and expelled his breath in a rush. Gladio shifted to face him, but Nyx wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Which is fair, he guessed, given the circumstances. Nyx kept a precise distance from Gladio now that the others were gone, a cushion of safety against feelings better left vaulted inside.

Curiosity got the better of Gladio. He closed his eyes, filtered out the cacophony of noise around them, and focused on Nyx’s heartbeat. It took him a while to narrow down the source of the sound—shitting augments—but he found it, slow and sure and steady. One beat after the other. Gladio thought he’d find it racing or irregular, but nope. He was beginning to think nothing surprised Nyx anymore.

“G, can I say something without you pushing me off this ledge?” Nyx asked. There was a hesitancy to the question that prickled across Gladio’s nerves.

“If I ain’t murdered you yet for half the crazy shit you’ve said to me, I don’t think I’m gonna start now,” Gladio replied.

“Be careful around Operative Scientia. Around _Ignis_ ,” Nyx corrected, the name passing through his lips with an ugly twist. “I believe you when you say he’s been nothing but golden to you, but that motherfucker doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Gladio asked, too tired for games. “I could feel the atmosphere depressurize as soon as you two saw each other this morning. You looked like you wanted to claw his eyeballs out, which I wouldn’t recommend, because you’d never get close enough to try.”

“I know,” Nyx said darkly. After a few _thump thump thumps_ of Nyx’s boots against the outside of the Citadel, he spoke again. “I just… fuck, I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He wouldn’t know what human decency was if it hit him in his smug, perfect face. He might be loyal to the Lucian Coalition, but he’s certainly got no reason to be fuckin’ loyal to you.”

“And this is where you tell me to think with my brain instead of my dick again, I guess?” Gladio asked.

“Fuck, Gladio, I don’t care what you do at this point. You’re the one on a suicide mission. You wanna get down and dirty with _Operative Scientia_ , be my guest. Astrals, I’d like to be a fly on the wall if you actually managed it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when shit hits the fan with him, because it will. I promise you that.”

“Like I need your permission,” Gladio grunted.

“Never said you did. If I wasn’t under, how’d you put it, several hundred confidentiality clauses, I’d tell you the whole story about that bastard. If I could be sure he wouldn’t find me and kill me in my sleep even from the middle of deep space, I’d probably tell you anyway.”

“He really don’t seem that bad to me,” Gladio said quietly.

“Of course he wouldn’t, scarface. Your ability to see the good in people is right up there with your ability to call people out when their bad side shows up to play. Just be careful, yeah? Both with him and in general. That’s all I ask.”

Gladio fiddled with the pendant on his new necklace. “We look upon the distant stars, and wonder why we call them ours. But when courage fails the hearts of men, the stars restore their faith again,” Gladio recited, his eyes trained on the sky. 

“Ugh, not that poetry shit,” Nyx groaned, leaning against Gladio and nudging him with a shoulder. “Don’t let your last words to me be that. Or goodbye. Goodbyes are shit too.”

“How about ‘thank you,’ then? Thank you, Nyx. For everything.”

Nyx placed a hand on top of Gladio’s, squeezing lightly. “You really wanna thank me, work a miracle and win us this war.”

Gladio vowed to remember Nyx as he was in that moment: chin lifted, the lights of Insomnia sparkling in his eyes, electric kukri spinning in his free hand, his other hand in Gladio’s, and a bittersweet grin across his lips.

They warped down to the sky deck, entered the Citadel, embraced, and parted ways before Gladio allowed himself the indulgence of tears.

He hoped they’d be the last. He knew they wouldn’t.

* * *

Gladio was back in his Citadel quarters with his presents stashed away before he pulled out his comm. He dismissed or deleted several messages—debriefing follow-ups, spam advertisements, Insomnian news alerts. One message was from Iris, which he held for a later response.

He also found a message from Ignis waiting for him.

 **I. Scientia (11:04PM):** If you receive this message prior to retiring for the evening, please confirm if I’m able to come to your quarters for approximately an hour. I’ve received permission to connect you to the Armiger Network.

Gladio rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He was getting pretty tired, but at the same time, he didn’t think he’d be sleeping for a while yet. If it was something they could get out of the way before their departure tomorrow, all the better.

 **G. Amicitia (11:32PM):** i’m still awake. lemme know if you wanna drop in

The comm vibrated in Gladio’s hand before he had the chance to set it down.

 **I. Scientia (11:32PM):** I’m on my way.

Well. So much for any time to relax. Ignis certainly knew how to cram a day full of shit, Gladio would give him that. He wondered if he might need to remind Ignis that he couldn’t achieve the same level of functional sleeplessness that the Operative could.

Off came the uniform and on went the comfier sweats and singlet. Gladio considered showering again before he reminded himself that he’d broken the vibrocleanser earlier. The joy of seeing his unit again had already begun to fade, leaving his system along with whatever modest buzz he’d worked up out on the sky deck. Gladio sank down onto the leather couch with a soft groan.

He must have drifted off to sleep as soon as he sat down, because the next thing he was aware of was the buzz of the intercom jarring him to consciousness.

“Come in,” Gladio mumbled, hoping it was loud enough for the automated voice controls to pick it up.

Ignis let himself in, his immaculate frame a sight that was getting way too fucking familiar to Gladio for his own good. He tilted his head as he regarded Gladio, blinking those almond shaped eyes a few times behind his visor.

“Did I wake you? I can come back in the morning,” Ignis ventured.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep yet,” Gladio said, waving a hand in Ignis’s general direction before balling his hands into fists and rubbing his eyes. Once he could see again, he glanced up and down Ignis’s body. “Do you ever _not_ wear a suit?”

“Do you ever keep your uniform on any longer than strictly necessary?” Ignis asked in return, raking his precise gaze over Gladio.

“Fair enough,” Gladio admitted with a grin. He leaned forward on the couch and rested his elbows on his thighs. “So, what’s this about the Armiger Network? Am I sayin’ that right?”

“Arm-ih-jer,” Ignis corrected, and the way his accent caressed the consonants in the word went straight to Gladio’s traitorous dick. “It’s a private network that serves several purposes for His Highness. The primary functions are information, communication, and of course, the armory functions you saw during our combat demonstration today.”

“God above, you mean I can, you know, do…” Gladio paused, pantomiming an imitation of the way Ignis’s hands had moved when directing the phasic daggers, “Do that shit?”

Ignis took a seat beside Gladio on the couch and crossed his legs—his shapely, long legs—at the knee, resting his gloved hands on top of said knee. Gladio marveled through his sleep-fogged brain how Ignis exuded _control_ with every motion. No movement wasted, no gesture careless. He treated his whole body the same way Gladio would treat Apocalypse.

Fuck. Maybe Ignis’s body _was_ a weapon, right alongside Gladio’s. At this point, nothing would surprise him.

“I won’t bore you with the gory details, but yes, you may be able to learn to control the phasic summoning function. It’s quite similar to the skills required to quantum phase.”

Gladio let out a disappointed grunt. “Well, we can forget about that, then.” He angled himself towards Ignis, the Operative’s proximity igniting Gladio’s nerves and burning away his drowsiness. “Wait. Does that mean you can phase too?”

“I can. However…” Ignis cupped his chin with black-clad fingers. “For brevity’s sake, I suffer from adverse effects when phasing, so I prefer not to when at all possible.”

“Shitting Astrals. You’re a yacker. The one and only Operative Ignis Scientia can’t hang onto his lunch when phasing. This is a fuckin’ revelation,” Gladio said cheerfully, his disappointment forgotten. “I found the one thing you can’t do.”

The chill in Ignis’s mossy green eyes could have been plucked straight from the snowfields of Niflheim. “Might I remind you that I _can_ phase? I choose _not_ to phase.”

That thought sobered Gladio up right quick. “True. Sorry, Iggy. Didn’t mean to poke at a sore spot, it’s just… hard to believe you’re not perfect. At everything.”

“Apology accepted. It’s been a long day for both of us, I’m afraid, and the days are only bound to get longer,” Ignis said. When he next spoke, it was under his breath. “Besides, I’m far from perfect.”

Gladio caught an impression of softness overlaid across Ignis’s angular features for a nanosecond before it disappeared again. Or his tired brain was making shit up. Either or.

“Now that I ain’t buyin’,” Gladio replied. He reached out and patted Ignis on his slender shoulder before he realized he was doing it, probably a holdover from being so touchy with his unit. Gladio expected Ignis to pull away, or brush his hand off, or the very least drill a couple new holes in him with that mean glare of his, but he didn’t do any of that.

Ignis smiled at Gladio. _Smiled_. Not the half-grin, or smirk, or that twitchy movement of lips that sometimes counted as a smile for Ignis. No, this was the genuine article, complete with crinkled eyes and full, upturned lips. It was spoiled a little bit by the visor, in Gladio’s opinion, but _fuck_ , it took his breath away all the same.

“Careful, Ignis,” Gladio said after he removed his hand, “You keep that up, people might start to think of you as a nice guy.”

“Well now, we can’t have that, can we?” Ignis asked, and Gladio’d eat his bootlaces if there wasn’t a certain playfulness to the question. In the blink of an eye, it was strictly business again. “In all seriousness, I should inform you about the Armiger Network’s other capabilities before connecting you.”

“Shoot,” Gladio said, putting a little more space between himself and Ignis, because fuck if he could shake the image of that smile from his head.

“His Highness, Prompto, and myself are already connected. We have access to a less sophisticated version of the diagnostic program you run on your augments, so basic vital information is available as long as users are within range.”

“Within range of what?” Gladio asked.

“The Armiger Network centers on His Highness, who hosts the primary control node. Should he become incapacitated, failsafes are in place to transfer control to me, though at reduced efficiency.”

“I’m gonna pretend I understood that,” Gladio said with a grimace. “How does it involve me? Keep it to the need to know.”

“For your purposes, items can be stored in a sort of… portable pocket dimension, if you will, via the Armiger Network. Learning how to use this function would be beneficial, as it allows us to store weapons and armor for access in places where it would otherwise be denied,” Ignis explained.

“Yeah, alright, I can get down with that. We’ll go over that on the ship tomorrow, I’m guessing?”

“You guess correctly. The last function…” Ignis hesitated, pursing his lips together in a thin line. “Communication.”

“We have comms,” Gladio offered, raising one eyebrow at Ignis.

“We do. However, we suspect there will be times where verbal communication will be compromising or outright impossible. The Armiger Network allows mind to mind communication between users through the usage of neurolinks.”

“What the fuck?” Gladio asked. He was proud that he’d made it this far into the conversation on this little sleep before resorting to using that phrase, but it was appropriate. “So… I’m gonna have all of you inside my head. Because there wasn’t enough old, new, and fucked up shit in there already?”

“Not quite. I’ll provide instruction on the usage of callsigns and trigger images to initiate communication, but the action has to be deliberate. It’s not mind reading or some such nonsense, if that’s your line of reasoning,” Ignis replied.

“Shitting Astrals. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can see how talking without talking would be useful, in particular when you’ve got six units of MTs breathing down your neck, but that’s a bit fucking strange.”

“This is why I wished to inform you prior to connecting you. If you’d like me to wait and explain the details more thoroughly, we can continue this conversation tomorrow,” Ignis offered.

“But I’m still gonna need to be hooked up to this thing?”

“I’m afraid so.” Ignis’s tone held a note of genuine regret, which Gladio was thankful for. “You’ll also need to start using your visor. I did acquire a model that may be more suited to your personal tastes.”

Ignis held out a hand and, after a flash of crystalline blue, a visor materialized in his palm. It was model designed to hook behind an ear, its screen sized to fit over a single eye only. Gladio supposed it was better than the monstrosity Ignis wore—and yet somehow managed to look amazing in.

He sighed and took the piece of equipment from Ignis. As soon as he curled his fingers around it, it crunched and shattered into unusable fragments.

“Oops,” Gladio deadpanned.

Ignis summoned another identical visor no sooner than Gladio had finished speaking. “I suspected you might attempt destroying the equipment to avoid wearing it. As such, I have several more of these in waiting. If you’re quite finished, I’ll give you this one.”

Once Gladio had thrown the remains of the first visor in the disposal, he accepted the second visor with an infinitely more delicate touch. “You can show me the visor stuff tomorrow. For now, I guess… go ahead and connect me.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said. He fixed Gladio with a thoughtful look. “Two questions before I begin: may I touch you, and will you close your eyes?”

Hell yeah Ignis could touch him, Gladio thought, pretty much anywhere he wanted. He could think of a few places in particular he’d like Ignis to touch, one of which was stirring to life from Ignis’s question alone. But the bit about closing his eyes was weird.

“You’re not gonna jab a needle in my brain or anything crazy?” Gladio asked.

Ignis gave a soft laugh. “No. I’ve been informed it can feel somewhat uncomfortable, but there should be no pain.”

Gladio closed his eyes. “Okay then. Do what you need to do.”

The two snaps of undone buttons echoed through the room like gunshots to Gladio’s augmented hearing. He heard Ignis give a hard exhale before fingers slid across either side of his face, stopping once both of Gladio’s cheeks were cradled in impossibly soft palms. The snaps must have been Ignis taking his gloves off and...

_Holy shit._

“It won’t take but a moment,” Ignis said. He was close enough that his breath ghosted across Gladio’s lips, smelling of mint and maybe a hint of coffee. Shitting Astrals, Gladio wondered if he could figure out how to disconnect himself from the Armiger Network if this is what getting connected was like.

Keeping his eyes closed was a challenge for the ages. Gladio longed to open them, to study Ignis’s face, to devour the sight of Ignis’s long, elegant fingers laid bare, to remove his visor and trace those perfect eyebrows with his fingertips, to card his fingers through Ignis’s ash blonde hair, to pull him close and kiss him until they were both out of breath and out of objections about what a bad idea it would be to keep going. He imagined Ignis parting his lips for him, letting Gladio explore his mouth with his tongue, and Gladio ached at the mere thought of learning what Ignis tasted like.

Wait. That was a literal ache, not just a figurative one. He was hard as a Gods damn rock. And 20 fucking centimetres away from Ignis, which meant there was no way Ignis didn’t notice. Here’s hoping Ignis had his eyes closed too.

“ _Gladiolus_. Keep your eyes closed,” Ignis said, that teasing note back in his tone.

Ah, and there went the chance of Gladio preserving his dignity.

“I’m trying,” Gladio replied, trying desperately to think of anything but how much he wanted Ignis. He swore he saw light flicker against his eyelids, but his thoughts were too muddled to say for sure.

There was a burn deep in his head like the beginnings of a migraine, a thrill along his nerves that started at the base of his skull and spread downward along his entire body. His augments spasmed once, hard and fierce, and it was almost enough to take the edge off the heat building low in his abdomen. The burn grew more intense—Gladio assumed it was the neurolink—but it didn’t quite tip into painful.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Ignis asked, low and quiet.

“Uncomfortable ain’t the word I’d use.”

“What word _would_ you use?”

Horny. Desperate. Tired. Desirous, which was the fancier way of saying horny.

“Uncomfortable works,” Gladio corrected.

“A few more moments. No peeking,” Ignis said, and Gods, Gladio wanted to kiss the smirk that he was sure Ignis wore right off his fucking mouth.

The burn in his head began to subside, replaced with an awareness that eluded Gladio for the time being. He got the feeling _something_ new was there, if he knew how to access it. The buzzing of his nerves faded too, which left only Ignis’s smooth palms and sweet breath to focus on, neither of which was doing Gladio any good.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Ignis removed his hands from Gladio’s face. A rustling sound, two snaps, and Ignis spoke. “Your connection to the Armiger Network is complete. You may open your eyes.”

A breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped Gladio as he followed Ignis’s instructions. He expected Ignis to look different—debauched, maybe, given the intimacy of that whole demonstration—but nope, there he was, calm and collected as always. Gladio was still half hard in his sweats and twisted to better conceal himself from Ignis’s view.

“Thanks,” Gladio said. _I think_ , he added silently.

“May I perform a communications test before I leave?” Ignis asked, his hands clasped atop his knee.

“Sure.”

_{Are you able to hear me?}_

An involuntary shudder coursed through Gladio’s body at the sound of Ignis’s voice _in_ his fucking head, compounded by the fact that Ignis’s mouth hadn’t so much as twitched.

“Uh. Yeah, I hear you. That is the strangest shit, Iggy, I’m not gonna lie,” Gladio said.

 _{It does require some adjustment.}_ Ignis raised an eyebrow and one corner of his lips simultaneously, his speculative green eyes never leaving Gladio.

“Shit. Fuck,” Gladio said, more out of reflex than from conscious effort. “Okay. Yeah, let’s… let’s go over the rest of this tomorrow. I’m damn tired, tired enough that I might even sleep without nightmares despite being alone in the dark.”

“Certainly. I’ll let you get some rest,” Ignis said, standing from the couch and making his way towards the door. He paused three quarters of the way there and looked over his suit-jacketed shoulder at Gladio. “If it would help you sleep, you’d be more than welcome to accompany me back to my apartments. I have an infrequently used guest room that might suit.”

Part of Gladio, the larger part by _far_ , wanted nothing more than to go with Ignis. He wasn’t as objectively brilliant as the Operative, but he had a sneaking fucking suspicion that the guest room would stay unused if he went with Ignis. And that he’d get a _really_ good sleep.

The other part of Gladio counseled caution. Nyx’s words floated up in his mind, cutting through the fog of lust that rapidly filled his thoughts. 

_Just be careful, yeah?_

Gladio sighed. Gods, Astrals, extraterrestrial life forms, Nyx had a point. There was no point in pursuing this. Not when Ignis was still hiding things from him. Not when Gladio was a dead man walking. Literally.

“Thanks for the offer, Iggy, but I’m good. See you in the morning?”

Ignis’s smile was a subdued echo of his earlier expression. “But of course. Until tomorrow, Gladio.”

As soon as Ignis was through the doors, Gladio slumped back on the couch.

“ _Fuck_. You’re a stupid fucking idiot, Amicitia. Hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Gladio brushed his teeth and wondered if toothpaste could be regret flavoured, because that’s about what it tasted like to him. He washed his face, climbed into bed, and turned off the lights.

When sleep finally found him, it found him tangled up in thoughts of Ignis’s warm, soft hands on his face, of Ignis’s voice in his head, and it dragged him under anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading—I truly appreciate it! Comments are always a bucket of love if you feel up to leaving one.
> 
> I... I promise we're getting on the ship next week. I promise. Also keep an eye out for an Artificial side story this weekend! <3 Thanks again!


	7. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _L.C. Regalia_ embarks on its maiden—and perhaps only—voyage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna). Any remaining mistakes are all me.

“So, what do you think?” Noct asked, a subtle grin fixed on his face.

Gladio thought that if the word lust could be applied to an object, that would pretty much sum up his feelings. The _L.C. Regalia_ had no markings to identify it as Lucian—where they were going, that would be begging for trouble they didn’t need—but its design was _slick_. The all-black paint job had a sort of iridescent sheen to it, like sunlight on an oil spill. Gladio supposed that black was as good as colour as any; blending in with the dark of space was their only option for stealth, considering the Coalition hadn’t figured out Niff cloaking technology yet. Size wise, it was bigger than Gladio had imagined, taking up most of the isolated hangar Ignis had led him to at an obscenely early hour.

“Looks like you sank as many hours and credits into the Regalia as you did me,” Gladio said, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder.

“Less, probably,” Ignis murmured from somewhere behind Gladio’s right shoulder.

“Specs is right. We knew how to build the Regalia from the get-go, at least,” Noct added.

Gladio decided to let the casual reference to himself as a thing slide this morning. “Makes sense.” His eyes combed the length of the ship, admiring the sleek, folded back ‘V’ shape of the wings, the low profile, and the tapered point of the bow. His gaze lingered on weapons situated near the Regalia’s midsection. “Three plasma cannons and… looks like an entanglement deployer? That’s all the weapons we’re working with?”

“An emphasis was placed on speed and shielding when the Regalia was constructed. Subsequently, we had few resources remaining to allocate to offensive weaponry,” Ignis explained. He’d stepped forward to stand next to Gladio, but his eyes were trained on the ship.

“Sure. Long as you realize those probably won’t scratch a Niff fighter’s shields, let alone a cruiser or, gods forbid, a Dauntless,” Gladio said.

“We run into a Dauntless, we’re kinda dead meat anyways. They’re like the Imperators of spaceships,” Prompto added from Noct’s other side. “At least there’s not too many of those hanging around to worry about.”

“You seen one?” Gladio asked, turning his attention from the ship to Prompto.

Prompto’s ultraviolet eyes seemed too bright in the dull confines of the nondescript grey hangar. The look in them sent a shiver down Gladio’s reinforced spine. “Once. It was… yeah. Not pretty.”

“Fuck,” Gladio started, “I’ve only seen vidfeeds of the aftermath. How’d you manage to clap eyes on one and live to talk about it?”

“Gentlemen. Our time is limited. If everyone’s ready, we should board and begin introductory pre-flight procedures,” Ignis said, waving a gloved hand towards the Regalia.

The four of them began walking to the ship, and Gladio’d be damned if it didn’t feel like his body had during his recovery, familiar but not. Deploying was old hat, but deploying with the Crown Prince of the Lucian Coalition, Ignis, and whoever the fuck Prompto was, _that_ was new. Gladio was nice and flexible, real good at meshing with new crews when the situation required, but he’d be apprehensive about it until they settled into a routine. After all, he couldn’t be expected to keep their asses alive—well, one royal ass in particular—without having some trust established first.

Trust made him think of Ignis, and of their conversation on the shuttle, and Gladio soon found himself glancing at the Operative out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t been lying to Iggy when he’d said he trusted him, as much as he could trust anyone who deliberately made themselves the universe’s biggest fucking enigma. In spite of Gladio’s best efforts to shake it off, he felt a constant pull towards Ignis, a longing that he’d given up trying to define. The physical part of it was obvious—the Niffs would have to kill him again before that attraction stopped, probably. The mental part, that’s where things got real interesting.

There was a person under that mask. Gladio knew it as sure as he knew anything; he’d seen hints of it in thoughtful gestures at the hospital, in wry humor wielded with expert precision, in that smile from last night that he couldn’t shake from his brain. Gladio conceded two points to Nyx: Ignis wasn’t someone to fuck with, and he needed to be careful.

But Gladio’d never been great at being careful. Not with his own shit, anyway. 

Gladio was drawn from his thoughts by a section of the Regalia’s hull opening at some unknown trigger. A ramp that led to the interior airlock descended from the ship. Noct took a few quick steps forward, clearly intending to be first aboard, but Gladio threw an arm out in front of him to stop him.

“Iggy, how off-grid is this place?” Gladio asked, twirling the pointer finger of his free hand in a circle to indicate the hangar.

“ _Iggy_?” Prompto asked in a quizzical stage whisper to no one in particular.

Ignis carried on as though he hadn’t heard. “This hangar is silenced and unlisted on any Citadel maps, civilian or otherwise,” Ignis replied. True to form, he caught Gladio’s meaning immediately. “You’d prefer to go in first, then.”

“Yeah. Can’t be too sure, even though I know firsthand how locked down all this mission shit is. We ain’t losin’ our charge before we hit the first hyperspace gate,” Gladio said.

“I think it’s safe to go inside my own, secret ship that’s been stored in an off-grid hangar,” Noct groused. He pushed against Gladio’s arm, but it didn’t budge.

Gladio sighed. Better to get this out in the open now. He gave Noct the sternest glare he could muster, which he’d been told on several occasions was very fucking stern. “Look, Noct, you want me to help keep you alive, I do it my way. Call me paranoid or anal, but I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit out there. You brought me back from the fucking dead to protect you, _so let me protect you_.”

Noct’s chest rose and fell beneath his black uniform several times before he nodded. Gladio noted that his eyes were doing the weird glowy shit again, the thing where the magenta ring around his pupil lit up. Shitting Astrals.

“You’re right,” Noct agreed, and if the diplomacy in his voice sounded a little forced, Gladio didn’t care, so long as he listened. “Go ahead.”

Dull metallic thuds sounded as Gladio climbed up the ramp and into the Regalia. Since the ship remained stationary the airlock was disengaged, which cleared the way for Gladio to make a perfunctory sweep of the corridor. He only had two options for direction, left or right—port or starboard, he reminded himself, since direction would soon be relative—and chose left. A few stairs and one set of polished onyx automatic doors later, Gladio found himself on the bridge of the Regalia.

If he’d thought the exterior was nice, it was fuck all compared to the interior. Gladio grinned. The Lucian Coalition, and by extension Ignis, had delivered on one promise: the Regalia was a _really_ swanky ship.

There was no central command station as was standard on other Coalition military vessels. Instead, Gladio registered several auxiliary stations on either side of the bridge, presumably for weapons, shields, and communications. Each post came equipped with a semi-circle of monitors and panels to input commands, and Gladio suspected additional holographic terminals would be available once the ship was powered up. It was a small detail, but the high backed chairs were upholstered in some kind of rich looking leather, the material so new Gladio could smell it in the air. The distinctive scent of new electronics ruined it a bit, but he wasn’t gonna complain about a little luxury.

The Regalia had a bona fide glass viewpane situated at the nose, curving in an arc spanning a 270 degree angle. It had to be some kind of reinforced or tempered glass, and it could probably be dimmed to avoid passersby seeing inside, but Gladio couldn’t wait to get a view of the black from the bridge.

He wanted to examine what he had pegged as the pilot’s station more—it had by far the most bells and whistles of the bunch, including a reclined chair with a spread of monitors above it—but given that nothing had blown up or came out of the dark to stab him, he figured he should check the aft of the Regalia as well.

Gladio turned and descended the stairs, passed the airlock, and continued through the ship. He counted six doors in the corridor past the airlock and assumed those were personnel quarters, given their proximity to the bridge. If this was an actual security sweep, he’d check all of them, but right now he mostly wanted to prove a point to Noct. His heavy footfalls echoed in the metal corridor as he passed through a set of doors past the personnel quarters.

These doors opened up to a sort of communal area with several branching pathways at various corners of the room. _Gods a-fucking-bove_ , they really had spared no expense with this ship. A hybrid comp-station and QCN terminal took centre stage in the room. Off to the port side, Gladio saw a compact kitchen and two smaller versions of the sky deck table for seating, complete with hovering chairs and all. It looked like something straight out of the Citadel instead of the bland, utilitarian mess halls on larger Lucian cruisers.

Fuck. At least they’d be travelling in style. Gladio couldn’t _wait_ to see how the Regalia handled once she was out of orbit and in the black.

{ _All clear in there?_ } Noct asked through the Armiger Network.

Gladio sighed. Hearing Noct’s voice in his head was way less satisfying than hearing Ignis’s, that was for damn sure. He still didn’t know how to fucking _answer_ people over the shitting Armiger—he wasn’t sure he wanted to learn, but that was neither here nor there—so he settled for double-timing it back to the Regalia’s airlock and down the ramp.

Three faces turned towards Gladio as he arrived at the bottom of the ramp, but he was most interested in one face in particular. Ignis directed a knowing grin at Gladio that, from anyone else, might have irritated him, but the expression made something soft flutter in the pit of Gladio’s stomach.

“Sorry for the delay. We’re good,” Gladio said.

“No assassins waiting for you in there?” Noct asked, moving past Gladio and heading up the ramp as he spoke.

“Between me and the Big Guy, we got it covered! Score’s still Prompto, one, Gladio, zero as far as saving princes goes, though,” Prompto said. He jogged up to position himself beside Noct, outfitted with the same arsenal of guns he’d worn when Gladio had first met him.

Big Guy? If Gladio were the eye rolling type, that’d be worth an eye roll. It wasn’t _wrong_ , just… uncreative.

“Thank you, Gladio,” Ignis said quietly, genuine gratitude lurking beneath the visor and the digital noise across his eyes. “After you,” he added with a miniscule bow in Gladio’s direction and a twitch of his lips.

“Not you too,” Gladio groaned, but he made his way back to the Regalia all the same.

Once the four of them were off the ramp and in the airlock, Gladio watched as Ignis raised a hand to a dark square on the wall next to the airlock. A holographic panel appeared and, after several quick taps, the ramp began to curl and fold inward with a mechanized hiss. A resounding slam echoed through the area once the ground access had fully retracted against the Regalia’s hull.

“Noctis, if you could provide Prompto with the necessary information about his duty stations and accomodations, I’ll do the same for Gladio. We can meet on the bridge in one hour or when finished, whichever comes first,” Ignis said.

“Woohoo! Finally, I get the grand tour. Man, this ship is gonna be so freakin’ _awesome_!” Prompto had already taken a few steps. “Dude, tell me you were able to get the VR hookup working? We’re totally gonna have time to crush the rankings in Castlestorm.”

Noct jabbed an elbow into Prompto’s side, a feat made more impressive given the carapace of artillery Prompto sported. “You can worry about that later. C’mon, let’s start with the engine room, _ace mechanic_.”

The pair headed starboard towards the bulk of the ship, the brightness of Prompto’s laughter undercut with a lower chuckle from Noct. Gladio frowned in the general direction they’d disappeared to before speaking.

“They’re just kids,” Gladio said, frown deepening. He wished, not for the first time and not for the fucking last time, either, that none of them were in this position.

“While it’s true that they’re both quite young, I believe you’ll be pleasantly surprised as far as their skills and combat ability. Prince Noctis has undergone extensive training at the hands of Cor Leonis himself.”

Gladio whistled, surprise wiping away his scowl. “The Immortal? Shit, okay. I’m not completely sold, but that goes a long way. And Prompto?”

“Prompto also has years of combat training at his disposal, and his boasts about his engineering prowess are closer to the truth than you might imagine,” Ignis said with a wry twist of his mouth. “He’s somewhat of a savant in that regard.”

“Can’t decide whether I really like him or really _don’t_ ,” Gladio muttered, rubbing a palm over his head and through the soft growth of new hair.

“You wouldn’t be the first to express that sentiment, trust me,” Ignis said with his trademark subdued smile. “Shall we begin with the bridge?”

“Yeah. Lead the way.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Gladio confirmed his earlier suspicion: he was in lust with the Regalia _and_ its pilot. At least one of those things didn’t pose a distraction to their life-or-death mission.

“A moment while I run the startup sequence for auxiliary power so we can go over the Regalia’s weaponry controls,” Ignis said to him.

Were Gladio not legitimately worried about their prospects now that reality was sinking in, the graceful way that Ignis lowered himself into the reclined pilot’s seat would have tightened his pants for sure. How Ignis managed to exude fluid elegance while wearing a 6,000 piece suit was beyond Gladio, but he did it all the same.

Ignis began inputting commands on a physical terminal just above his lap, his silver-gloved hands moving faster than Gladio could track. As various monitors began to light up in the arc above Ignis, he sent a message over the Armiger Network.

{ _Prompto, Your Highness. If the two of you are still in the engine room, I would recommend removing any vital limbs from the engine’s immediate vicinity._ } Ignis sounded as cool and crisp in Gladio’s head as he did when he spoke aloud.

A low hum started from the aft of the Regalia, a hum that increased in pitch before leveling out to near-silence once more. If Gladio focused, he could still hear it, but he figured that was due to the augments rather than the actual volume level. The auxiliary power brought several additional monitors to life, their light reflecting off the polished black floor of the bridge. The familiar, subtle vibration of a powered spacecraft sent a jolt of adrenaline through Gladio.

They were really gonna do this.

{ _Hooooooooly crap. Holy crap! Oh man, she’s beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a hyperwave core in action. I’m never leaving this room. Can I sleep in here? I’m gonna sleep in here. Noct, is it cool if I sleep in here?_ } Prompto’s fevered enthusiasm translated as well as Ignis’s calm.

“That should suffice until takeoff,” Ignis said, standing from the pilot’s chair. He pointed to one of the lavish leather chairs Gladio had eyed on his brief foray to the bridge, the one closest to the pilot’s station. “That’s the primary weapon and shield terminal.”

Gladio set his duffel bag down and took a seat, pleased to find that the chair accommodated his size so that he didn’t have to squeeze into it. The restraints for takeoff and landing hung off the sides of the chair unbuckled. Gladio recognized an ident-chip scanner to the left of the terminal and tapped his left wrist against it. A set of translucent phasic controls materialized within comfortable reach of his hands once he did so, accompanied by a slew of information on the glowing screen before him. Gladio snorted out a laugh.

“At least I can’t break these,” Gladio said as he looked up at Ignis, grinning.

“In theory. In practice, I would advise against testing that notion,” Ignis replied, bracing himself against the back of Gladio’s chair with one hand and leaning over his shoulder. “You should recognize the subcommand menus as Coalition standard. Having reviewed your scores from the Academy and data logs from your prior service ships, I trust you’ll have no problem being Prime on weapons operation?”

“Hell no,” Gladio replied. He swiped through a few blue-white dialog menus from habit before speaking again. “Like I said, these ain’t gonna do much if we get into a real scrap. I can re-route shields all day long, but we’re gonna be counting on some evasive maneuvers more than anything.”

“Leave it to me. I’ve been so involved with the Regalia’s construction and operation that it feels like an extension of myself,” Ignis said.

“Yeah, I hear ya there. The more time you spend on a ship, the more it feels like home.” Gladio terminated his session on the station’s primary control panel by pressing and holding his thumb down on a backlit red button. “That’s enough screwing around for now. Don’t wanna blow a hole clean through a top secret hangar.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed, stepping aside to allow Gladio room to stand. “The engineering station is to the port side of the pilot’s, though I suspect Prompto will want to conduct his status monitoring from the engine room itself when possible.”

“I got that much,” Gladio deadpanned.

“His Highness will be responsible for piloting the Regalia when I’m off shift, but he’s well versed in weapons, shields, and engineering as well. The station next to engineering is a custom all-purpose terminal with access to each of the Regalia’s systems.”

Gladio hummed in the back of his throat. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have pegged Noct as having all that shit under his belt.”

“He’s quite capable… when he makes a sincere effort at completing a task, that is,” Ignis said.

“Meaning that he doesn’t always?”

“Precisely. Though, since LUNAFREYA made contact with him—” Ignis started, the words clipping off abruptly at the end. “Forgive me. We have more important priorities at the moment. I’m certain there will be time for personal anecdotes later.”

“All business as usual, Iggy,” Gladio said.

“Someone has to keep us on task,” Ignis quipped. “Once we’ve completed our brief tour of the Regalia’s main sections, we’ll double back towards the bridge and get you settled in your quarters.”

“Sounds solid to me.”

Gladio’d been doing a pretty decent job at not giving in to Ignis’s distracting presence, but as the Operative led him from the bridge, he found himself thoroughly distracted. Every fold of fabric, every button on that stupid suit jacket, every strand of hair, every raised eyebrow, every spread of gloved fingers, every single thing about Operative Ignis Scientia was so fucking calculated and perfect. He was so perfect that Gladio almost questioned why the Coalition would send Ignis on this mission, but given that the King-Elect was sending his own flesh and blood, sending their top Intelligence agent didn’t seem that far of a stretch.

He knew next to nothing about the guy, insofar as the word ‘guy’ could apply to someone like Ignis, and found himself fascinated all the same. 

Fucking shit. Get a grip, Amicitia.

Ignis hadn’t been kidding when he said the tour would be brief. The breezed through the fancy mess hall and poked their heads in the now empty engine room. To Gladio’s untrained eye, the engine room had looked like a shimmering, shiny, glowing, chromatic mess, but he trusted Prompto to do his thing and keep them moving. The cargo bay—Gladio’s preferred haunt on other cruisers—was more spacious than he had thought it would be, complete with a modest shuttle and four hoverbikes on top of all the storage crates.

Ignis pointed out the tiny medbay as they made their way back towards the bridge. Its sterile white confines were enough to send a shiver down Gladio’s spine and flood his stomach with a pulse of nausea. Hopefully he’d be able to clamp down on that urge since he was expected to patch people up if Ignis couldn’t.

Before Gladio knew it, they were outside the doors that Ignis identified as his quarters.

“You’re able to pass through the doors with your ident-chip,” Ignis explained, pointing to a slightly recessed circular panel nearby.

With a tap of his wrist, the doors slid open.

His quarters were exquisite, far nicer than any of his expectations. The first thing he noted was the colour. The interior walls had been painted a deep, dark green—his favourite colour, in fact. There had to be an aroma generator somewhere inside, because a pleasant scent reminiscent of forest nights and old-school campfires filled the room. Gladio recognized the bed-shaped outline on the wall next to him, the actual item folded into said wall to save space. A long desk topped with a personal comp-station and modest, cylindrical closet rounded out most of the furniture in his quarters.

All of it paled in comparison to the squat shelf full of antique, real, papery books that rested where the foot of his bed would be when unstowed.

Gladio found himself by the shelf in an instant. He ran a tentative hand across the spines of the books, skimming the titles and finding an impressive variety of genres. The selection was a nice mix of new texts and old favourites; it was also, if Gladio had to guess, incredibly expensive.

“What do you think?” Ignis’s quiet question reminded Gladio that the Operative was still in the room with him.

“Shit,” Gladio whispered, still crouched down and examining the contents of the shelf. Then, a little louder, “You did all this, didn’t you? _How_?”

“It’s my job to be well-informed,” Ignis replied. It was as close to a yes as Gladio was gonna get. “As to how… patience. A great deal of patience.”

Gladio rose and turned towards Ignis. He’d tried, he’d _really_ tried to shove all this aside, to shelve his questions, to heed Nyx’s warning, to focus on the mission and not his attraction to Operative Scientia, but this gesture was too personal. It struck a chord in him that wouldn’t stop demanding his attention until he cleared the air. A strange mix of joy and apprehension filled his chest as he took a few steps closer to Ignis.

“Before we start this jackshit fucking crazy mission, I gotta say, I can’t figure you out.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not exactly, but it was close enough to start a discussion.

“That’s by design,” Ignis replied, one arm folded across his chest and a fist curled under his chin.

“Seriously,” Gladio started. “I’m not as smart as you, but I sure as hell ain’t stupid, and I’m not in the mood to play games. What is this? The flirting, the banter, the incredibly fucking thoughtful gestures for a person you’ve only known for a handful of months?”

“Gladiolus…” Ignis’s usage of his full name took him by surprise, a surprise that was sure as shit written all over his face. Ignis removed his visor and set it on the desk beside him before pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, his unstyled hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head downward.

“That’s my name, but it ain’t an answer.” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “If I’m just a job, or if you’re just fucking with me to make this more fun or something…”

“No.” A single syllable, both deafening and hushed to Gladio’s ear. “You’re not just a job to me. In point of fact, our situation would be much easier if you were.”

“And what situation would that be?”

Ignis tipped his head back to meet Gladio’s eyes, and the vulnerability he found there was raw and new and uncertain, completely at odds with his image of Ignis. “You’d prefer that I spell it out for you, then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I kinda fuckin’ would,” Gladio said. His heart roared to life behind his ribcage, each individual beat hard and fierce.

Ignis drew up to his full height and kept his rich green eyes locked on Gladio’s. “It’s true that at first, you were a job—a project, to be specific, and one I pursued with the same efficiency that I apply to every project. Up until the moment you drew breath again, I convinced myself I wasn’t invested, that I could set aside whatever feelings I thought I had for a man I knew only through med-scans and dossiers and secondhand accounts.”

“Well, that’s the most truth I’ve gotten out of you since we met.” The roaring of Gladio’s heart built into a thunder he could feel all the way down to his toes. He crossed the distance to stand a breath away from Ignis, never taking his eyes off him. 

“Every attempt I make to keep a professional distance from you fails,” Ignis continued. “I find myself drawn you again and again, an unerring and inexorable path that I wish I could escape and can’t.” He reached a gloved hand up and rested it against Gladio’s chest, right above his heart, and Gladio thought Ignis’s palm might be the only thing anchoring him to the planet at that particular moment.

“I ain’t exactly been subtle, Iggy.” Without examining the consequences too hard, Gladio cupped one of Ignis’s cheeks, an imperfect copy of what Ignis had done to his face the night before. “But I don’t know you like you know me. We go down this road, suicide mission or no, I don’t want secrets. It’s a bad way to live.”

“I know,” Ignis said, his eyebrows drawing together in a tiny frown. “I know and, despite my profession, I happen to agree. I want to tell you everything, almost as much as I want you.”

Gladio’s heart stopped and restarted with a painful lurch at hearing the last three words from Ignis’s lips. “Then why don’t you?”

He saw the regret in Ignis’s eyes before his eyelids drifted closed, before he leaned against Gladio’s palm like he was the one needing anchoring. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Then I can’t either. And I’m sorry too.” Before withdrawing his hand, Gladio swept the pad of his thumb across the edge of Ignis’s bottom lip, as close to a kiss—or anything else—as they were like to get at this juncture. Before he lost whatever resolve he had left, Gladio lifted Ignis’s hand from his chest, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Ignis nodded, picking up his visor from the desk and settling it back on his face. His eyes flicked to a section of the HUD on his visor. “I’ll see you on the bridge in fifteen minutes.” Gladio should have found comfort in the fact that Ignis’s composed exterior was restored so quickly, but it only made his gut ache.

“Yeah. You will.”

Gladio stared at Ignis’s back as he left his quarters, and then at the doors once they closed, and wished his new life so far hadn’t been a series of predictable fucking tragedies.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Gladio stood on the bridge, Ignis to his right and Prompto to his left. Gladio could see Prompto bouncing up and down in his peripheral vision and was doing his best to ignore it. He was _not_ doing his best to ignore Ignis, who had his hands behind his back and his chin tilted up, the spitting image of the murder walking Operative Scientia Gladio’d been privy to in the Citadel.

Shit.

“I suck at speeches, but I figure if there was ever a time for one, it’s now,” Noct started, expression serious. He fiddled with the silver cape of his formal uniform before continuing.

The motion of Prompto nodding and giving two energetic thumbs up from beside him drew Gladio’s attention for an instant before it went back to Noct.

“All of us know the mission. We how little chance there is of us making it back home. We… no, _I_ chose all of you knowing how badly the odds are stacked against us. I’ve asked possibly the most selfish thing of all of you that anyone could ask: for you to give your life for mine, if it comes down to it, if it means we can see this thing through.”

Gladio could appreciate the honesty, at least, even if it was a small consolation.

“If any of you think for a single second that I’m not grateful, that I don’t recognize the depth of your loyalty and your bravery, you’d be wrong. Thank you for _choosing_ to stand by me, because it is a choice, a choice you all willingly made. If we make it to the end of this thing… I owe all of you, big time,” Noct continued, standing straighter now, his words solemn and earnest.

“Shit yeah you do!” Prompto interjected brightly, flexing his tattooed arms in an ostentatious pose.

Noct rolled his eyes, the only break from an otherwise regal-ish speech. “Anyway. The point is, we’re a team. We’re in this together. I can count on one hand the number of people who know about this mission outside of this room. We’re outside of the jurisdiction of the Coalition, of the Interplanetary Parliament, and of any aid they might provide. The three of you are the Crownsguard, the most secret and elite unit in existence, and the biggest damn heroes in Lucian history if we pull this off.”

“We’re with you, Noctis, every step of the way,” Ignis said, reserved and proud.

“And I’m lucky to have you. So… whaddya say we fire up the Regalia and go give the Empire as much hell as we can raise?”

“Now you’re speaking my fuckin’ language,” Gladio said, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“To your stations, team. We’re setting course for planet Accordo,” Noct said.

Gladio sank into the familiarity of buckling into his seat, the takeoff restraints tight against his chest and thighs. He tapped his ident-chip and started the weapons terminal, because really, you never fucking knew.

“Takeoff in T minus 120 seconds,” Ignis called from the pilot’s station.

The sounds and sensation of spaceflight were as second nature to Gladio as breathing. He watched with a mix of awe and trepidation as the hangar doors snapped open to reveal the bright morning sunlight beyond. Monitors lit up like the nighttime Insomnian skyline all around the Regalia’s bridge. A status indicator popped up on Gladio’s terminal, displaying the countdown to takeoff.

“T minus 60 seconds.”

Prompto’s delighted laughter from the opposite side of the bridge resonated through Gladio. This mission was a long shot, the longest fucking shot he could have ever conceived of, but now that they were doing it for real, he was all in. Gladio brought a hand to his chest to worry at the winged pendant hanging near his sternum.

“T minus 30 seconds.”

Gladio had a good radar for bullshit, and he hadn’t sensed any from Noct when he addressed the group. Regardless of the outcome of the mission, regardless of the complicated mess that was his affection for Ignis, regardless of Armiger Networks and Oracles and friends left behind, regardless of any lingering doubts he might have held, Gladio believed the Crown Prince when he said they were a team.

“T minus 10 seconds.”

He believed they were gonna kick some _serious_ ass.

“Takeoff procedures initiated.”

They were the Crownsguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - comments are treasured if you feel up to leaving one! <3 #SorryNotSorry for one particular section in this chapter. You know the one.


	8. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio learns a few new things and deals with a few old things, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna). Any remaining mistakes are all me. Special thanks to [@roadsoftrial](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial) for listening to me scream about this story forever.
> 
> An actual author's note to start: since the communication part of the Armiger will be used a lot more going forward, {telepathy group chat dialogue will be between these brackets and the brackets essentially treated like quotation marks.} Thank you!

“Try it again.”

Gladio knew his mood had nothing to do with Noct and everything to do with the walking dictionary definition of ‘secretive asshole’ currently piloting the Regalia, but it didn’t stop him from being irritated anyway. Okay, asshole was a bit harsh, but so was Ignis’s perfectly calculated polite distance that he’d been maintaining for the past Lucian Standard week, so as far as Gladio was concerned, they were even.

Like there was a score to keep at all.

“Gladio?” Noct asked, waving a hand in front of Gladio’s face from across the table.

“Sorry, I was off-world for a second there. This shit’s making my head hurt,” Gladio replied, resting his hands on the tops of his thighs and flexing his fingers against the muscle there.

“Like, ‘brain burning’ hurt or ‘normal headache’ hurt? ‘Cause if it’s the first one, we should call it for today, but I think you’re pretty close,” Noct said, folding his arms over his chest.

Both? Both. An unpleasant warmth had started to kindle deep in his skull, probably from his string of botched commands to activate the shitting Armiger Network’s communication feature. He’d entertained the notion—fantasy—that Ignis would have been the one teaching him, maybe in his quarters, maybe using language that would be classified as equal parts inappropriate and filthy, maybe wearing little to no clothing. Gladio had asked for Ignis’s help, a gesture he’d meant as a white flag, but Ignis deflected with an excuse about reports and suggested he ask Noct instead.

Fucking hell. So much for that idea.

“I’m good to keep going. The sooner I get the hang of this, the sooner I can tell Prompto to stop broadcasting his breakdown of the difference between—fuck, what are they again—hyperwave cores and quark accelerators without having to track him down personally,” Gladio said, his hands fisting in the soft fabric of his trackpants.

Noct grinned, a grin that Gladio parsed as a little embarrassed and a little affectionate all at the same time. “Bet you weren’t expecting to get a crash course in engineering on this mission.”

“Nope,” Gladio replied, then added after a beat, “Does he ever _stop_?”

“Nah, that’s Prom for you. I’m pretty sure if we have an catastrophic engine failure, we could figure out a way to hook him up in its place and keep the Regalia powered. Or, well, _he_ could figure out a way while we watched,” Noct explained, his last word dissolving into a quiet laugh.

“You two make quite the pair. Aside from having the same haircut and playing those VR games, you seem as different as could be. I mean, from what I’ve seen, anyway,” Gladio said, hoping to keep Noct talking while he focused on his trigger image again.

“Yeah, I could see that,” Noct agreed with an indifferent shrug. “He’s a good friend, though. My only friend, really, besides Specs.”

Gladio snorted. “No wonder, if you make a habit of asking them on life or death missions.” He closed his eyes and brought the image of a crown to mind, a simple gold affair with a sapphire gem in the centre. Cliche to pick a crown for Noct, but hey, whatever worked. He’d open this connection if it killed him. Again.

“Prom volunteered, actually. Before I even told him what it involved.”

“Huh. Kid’s got balls, then, or no sense of self preservation. One or the other,” Gladio grunted.

If he understood this right—which, granted, was a big fucking if—once he set a trigger image for someone, all he needed to do was bring it to mind to activate the connection. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about this gods damned crown to no effect, but this time, Gladio felt a mental _click_. It was that same feeling he got when he remembered a word or a thought that was on the tip of tongue but just out of his grasp.

_For fuck’s sake, please tell me this is working_ , Gladio thought, still uncertain.

{Hey! You did it!} 

Gladio opened his eyes to find Noct wearing a wide smile. It was the first one Gladio’d seen from him.

{This is weird. This is really, really weird. But, hey, at least the shit’s working.} There was a physical sensation—not quite a buzz, not quite a tickle—as the words transmitted, subtle enough that Gladio might have missed it had he not been on high alert for any changes.

{Prom, guess who finally figured out the Armiger? Well, part of it, at least.} Noct sounded almost proud in his head.

Pride or not, Gladio groaned and leaned forward, his forehead hitting the surface of the table a touch too hard.

{Awwwww yeah! Hey, buddy, welcome aboard! The Big Guy’s joining the 18th century after all, the secret and elite communication channel of Crownsguard. Awww, but does this mean you’re not gonna come visit me in the engine room anymore? You were starting to get the hang of basic maintenance, y’know. Oh, hey, speaking of, Noct, did you know if we add another flux capacitor, we could get like, at least a thousand more light years a litre. Hah, just kidding, that’s not how you measure fuel efficiency! But it would be a good start…}

{ _Prom_.} It wasn’t quite yelling, but the word rang out over Prompto’s speech and stopped it mid-sentence. Mid-thought. Whatever. Noct flicked his Lucis Caelum eyes up at Gladio. {You wanna try adding Prom to the conversation? You can select him from the Armiger interface on your visor and set his trigger image the same way, then both of us can hear you.}

Right. The visor. Fucking shit. He lifted his head off the table and focused on the translucent HUD hovering over his right eye.

Gladio might never get used to selecting command menus and subcommands with his _fucking brain_ , but compared to all the other shit they built into him, the neurolink was the least offensive. He focused his attention on inputting the correct sequence to get to the right place in the Armiger network, selecting options until a dialog box popped up in his vision asking him to set a trigger image for Prompto.

A gun. It had to be a gun, of course, because what else would it be for Prompto. But not just any gun—a neon, multicoloured version of the massive thermal sniper rifle that Gladio was pretty sure Prompto slept with at night, its colours the same as one of Prompto’s sleeves.

Making the connection the second time proved much easier, but Gladio couldn’t tell if he was speaking to both of them or just one. He gave it a shot anyway.

{I’ll still come to the engine room if you promise to stop humming the Castlemark theme over the Armiger.} Gladio grinned in spite of himself.

{Wooooo! Alright, I’ll try, but no promises, ‘k? That shit gets stuck in your head.}

{Maybe if you played it less it wouldn’t be stuck in your head all the time. Or in my head, for that matter.} Gladio shook his head as he responded. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He could see the convenience now that he’d gotten over the mental gymnastics of what amounted to telepathy. Good tech, at any rate.

Noct jumped in the conversation at that point, which told Gladio he was managing to speak to both of them. ‘Speak’ to both of them. {If we don’t play, we’ll lose our status as top ranked team on the ‘Net. Can’t have that.}

{I’m glad to see the QCN being put to such good use.} Gladio said, leveling a flat stare at Noct since he was the only one nearby.

{Hey, you can use it anytime. Not like anyone’s monitoring our usage out here,} Noct shot back, looking entirely too smug for Gladio’s liking.

{Gladio, I was thinking,} Prompto started, and Gladio felt a sense of foreboding at the phrase by instinct, {Would your augments be damaged if I shot them? ‘Cause I was thinking probably not, but then again, I don’t know the exact compound of nanocarbonite they used, and Ignis wouldn’t tell me either. The Lucian Coalition and its secrets, am I right?}

Noct doubled over laughing in his hoverchair, his shoulders shaking as he put a fist to his mouth to suppress the sound.

{Prompto, are you asking if you can shoot me? As an experiment?}

{Ummmm. Yeah, I guess I am.}

{No.}

{What if…}

{ _ **No.**_ }

Noct was shaking so forcefully from laughter now that he held onto the edge of the table to stay upright. Stupid fucking Prince.

“You gonna jump in on this or what, Princess? Unless you’re gonna give him permission, in which case, drop me off at the next waystation,” Gladio said, registering the nickname after he’d already finished his sentence.

{Prom, no one is shooting anyone on my watch. In fact, Gladio, bring Specs in on this conversation so we can make it an official rule. No shooting team members, no matter how well intentioned the shooting may be.}

Gladio’s pulse performed a wild fluctuation in his throat. He didn’t want to talk to Ignis, not right now. Maybe not for the next week, who could say.

{Gladio. Buddy. You broadcasted that bit about Ignis, FYI.} Thankfully, Prompto sounded more nervous than amused, because if he’d sounded amused, Gladio might have broken the hovertable in half.

{Annnnd that’s enough of the Armiger for me today.} Noct had explained that he could terminate his own connection by setting a termination phrase, but Gladio hadn’t quite gotten around to that part, so he did it manually through his neurolink. The ticklish feeling in his head went dormant and when he checked his HUD, he confirmed he was no longer broadcasting. There were apparently ways to mute as well, but fuck if Gladio could remember what they were.

Shitting Armiger Network. Shitting neurolink. Shitting Ignis.

“Something I should know about?” Noct asked, tone careful. “Ignis can be a bit… intense… but he means well. Usually.”

Gladio thought of Ignis leaning into his palm, his skin smoother than it had any right to be, not a single prickle of stubble beneath Gladio’s callouses. He thought of the untouched bookshelf at the foot of his bed, untouched because just looking at it made his guts twist in convoluted patterns. He thought of Ignis’s hand on his chest, of how he swore he could still feel the outline of splayed fingers braced against him if he concentrated hard enough.

Yeah, Ignis could be a bit intense, all right.

“Nah. Nothing you need to worry about, anyway.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Gladio frowned and rested his forearms on the table. The metal of his augments clanged against its metal surface, the resulting noise ringing through the common area. “You should always take me at my word.”

“Noted.” Noct lifted his hand and gave a mock salute with two fingers.

Breathe in and breathe out, Gladio. He reminded himself for the second time that his hormones and stupidity weren’t Noct’s fault. Once he felt a bit more steady, he eyed Noct askance.

“Say, how do you feel about instant noodles?”

“Love ‘em. I tried to sneak some aboard, but Ignis caught me,” Noct said. He slipped into a bad imitation of Ignis’s accent before continuing. “‘Noctis, you must keep your body in peak physical condition if we’re to have to best chance at success on this venture.’”

Gladio chuckled. “Well, he ain’t wrong, but there’s also nothing wrong with a little comfort food when you’re stuck out in the black. Gimmie a sec.”

It was a short distance from the common area to the corridor housing the personnel quarters. Gladio avoided letting his eyes fall on the bookshelf as he dug through his closet—a closet stuffed with standard uniforms and questionable leather outfits that he hadn’t examined closer yet—until he found part of the stash he’d brought in his duffel bag. He popped back out to the common area and tossed one styrofoam container to Noct, who caught it easily.

“Thanks for teaching me about the Armiger bullshit and for not being an asshole about it. I appreciate it,” Gladio said.

“No problem,” Noct replied, a grin ghosting across his lips. “If you have more questions, you know where to find me.”

“Sure do,” Gladio said. “For now, you should probably check on Prompto. Sounded like he might be in a mad science mood.”

“Yeah, you might be right. Catch ya later,” Noct called, already heading towards the engine room.

Gladio stayed at the table for—according to his visor—seven minutes, debating. He should just get his Armiger connection to Ignis over with instead of stewing on it. Deciding on a trigger image was proving difficult, though. His immediate thought was the image of a middle finger, but he was pretty sure he’d come to regret that choice real fuckin’ quick. The problem was that too many objects made him think of Ignis, and Ignis was the last person he wanted to start broadcasting to unintentionally.

Phasic daggers, maybe? No, too much room for error there. Thinking of their singular sparring session was enough to get him half-hard. Gloves? Nope, definitely too much room for error there, considering how often he thought of those gloved fingers gliding up the inside of his thighs or wrapped around his cock. Visor? No, that wouldn’t work either.

A coffee mug. That could do. He thought of the coffee mug glued to Ignis’s hand since they’d taken off. It was black with a cartoon depiction of big, yellow bird on its side; Ignis had explained that the mug was a gift from Prompto during one awkward instance of chit-chat on the bridge this week. Gladio figured there was small chance of his thoughts drifting to an ugly-yet-endearing mug during any compromising nighttime activities, so he went through the motions of setting it as Ignis’s trigger image.

Don’t be a coward, Amicitia.

{Ignis?}

{Ah, Gladio. You were able to connect to the Armiger’s communication feature. Well done.} Accented, polite, and just shy of frosty.

{C’mon, Iggy. We finally got somewhere the other night. Do you have to shut me out again?}

The pause was so long Gladio figured Ignis had abandoned him to his own devices, but he spoke again. {I’m not comfortable with ambiguity, Gladio, and furthermore, I don’t know what you wish me to do. It’s far preferable for me to disregard the entire conversation as though it never took place.}

{It ain’t _preferable_ for me.}

{Then I’ll ask once more: what would you have me do, aside from acquiesce to a request you already know I can’t grant?}

Gladio leaned back in his chair and let out a frustrated groan. Shitting Astrals.

{Talking to me again would be a start. We still gotta work together, ya know. And okay, yeah, maybe it was a bit much to ask for your whole life story all in one go. But I stand by what I said. You know every fucking thing there is to know about me, Iggy. We can start small with you. Favourite colours? Favourite foods?}

Silence again, a silence that lasted long enough for Gladio to get up and start towards the training room to blow off some steam. Halfway down the corridor, Ignis answered.

{I enjoy a wide variety of foods, far too many to pick a single item. Seafood would suffice for a category, I suppose.}

Gladio paused and leaned a shoulder against the wall. {Hey, there’s one good thing about heading to Altissia, at least. I’ve only been a handful of times, but I remember some killer seafood there.}

{Yes, I’ll be sure to visit a high-end seafood restaurant after the secret diplomatic meeting but before the inevitable bedlam.} Gladio was pleased to hear the sharp edge to Ignis’s retort, even in his head, and that thought shocked him into laughter.

{That’s more like it. What about the colour? Two facts for the day, then I’ll let you get back to work.}

This time, the answer was almost instant.

{Amber. Like your eyes.} Ignis’s words were soft and would have been intimate enough spoken aloud, let alone sliding between the spaces in Gladio’s mind like a sibilant caress.

Gladio devoted his entire focus to not broadcasting a single shitting word over the Armiger Network as he tried to collect his reeling thoughts. Fucking hell, Ignis knew how to throw a guy off balance, that was for sure. Unlike all the other times, this one had worked.

{Yeah. Okay. Good facts. Have a good shift.}

{I will.}

Coy amusement was packed into both syllables.

* * *

One step forward, two steps backwards. That seemed to sum up Gladio’s experience with Ignis since they broke orbit.

Against Gladio’s better judgment, he asked Ignis to eat with him once he was off shift. He figured maybe they could make some more headway on the earlier conversation now that Gladio was in a better headspace for talking. Ignis seemed ready to bolt as soon as Gladio approached him on the bridge and mentioned he’d be working in his quarters before taking off.

At least he hadn’t run off as fast as Gladio _knew_ he could. That counted for something, right?

With his plans for the next hour scrapped, Gladio ended up in the common room again, eyeing the QCN terminal. He should try to reach Iris at least, though his visor told him it was close to two in the morning back on Lucis. Gladio didn’t like the idea of waking her, but he liked the idea of missing a chance to talk to her even less.

Hunched over the terminal—who made the fucking thing so low to the floor, anyway—he tapped his ident-chip and punched in Iris’s permanent comm frequency on the translucent touch screen. The connection tones took a while to begin, and when they did, they ran their course unanswered. He attempted the call one more time with the same result. On the second time, he accepted the option to leave a message.

“Hey, Moogs, it’s Gladdy. I know you’re probably sleeping right now, but I had a free minute and wanted to comm you. Nothing much to report here, just wanted to say I love you. Be good, okay?” He pressed the button to terminate the connection once he finished speaking.

Gladio frowned at the terminal and considered comming Nyx. Chances were good he’d be asleep too. Besides, the way they’d left things, Gladio wasn’t sure Nyx _wanted_ to hear from him.

Ah, fuck it. He input Nyx’s comm frequency before he had the chance to change his mind.

Several trilling tones later, the QCN connected and Gladio was treated to an HD vidfeed of Nyx’s bare chest.

“Holy shit, Nyx, put some fucking clothes on before you answer your comm,” Gladio said with a grin.

“You’re the one calling me a week in like a fresh recruit, and at ass’o’clock in the morning to boot, and you still have the nerve to bitch about me being naked? Just for that…”

The vidfeed blurred from rapid movement on the other end as the comm was set in motion. When the view steadied, Gladio had an all too clear shot of Nyx’s ass. He looked over his shoulders to double check that he was alone in the common area. After Gladio was satisfied with his privacy, he stole another glance because he was still _sort_ of human and it was a _really_ nice ass, and _then_ he finally looked away.

“I saw that,” Nyx quipped. “If you’re that hard up, I can send you a picture. It’d last a lot fucking longer than you would.”

“Fuck you, Ulric,” Gladio replied, but he was still smiling. “You gonna stop being a shit yet or what?”

“In a sec.” The vidfeed focused on the pockmarked ceiling of Nyx’s apartment and Gladio could hear a faint rustling in the background. When the camera moved again, Nyx’s face came into view, his lips curved upward in a familiar wicked grin, tattoo at the corner of his eyes crinkled by crows feet. “Good to see you, scarface.”

“You too. I... uh, ain’t interrupting anything, am I?” Gladio asked, searching the background for visitors.

“I wish like hell you were, but no, it’s just me, myself, and I tonight. How’s things on your end?” Nyx paused and his grin sharpened, but Gladio was too slow on the mute button to silence his next sentence. “You manage to get bent over a sturdy flat surface and fucked into the next system by Operative Scientia yet? I bet—”

Gladio mashed his index finger against the console’s mute button, pleasantly surprised that he didn’t crack the screen in the process given his hurry. Nyx’s lips had stopped moving and he had an eyebrow raised at Gladio.

“In case you didn’t notice, the QCN terminal is in a common area. The common area, you know, the one 50 meters from the fucking personnel quarters,” Gladio said, irritated at the flush creeping up the parts of his neck that were still flesh.

Nyx’s response was to arch his eyebrow higher and give it a little wiggle.

“Fuck, see if I comm you again. You gonna behave if I unmute you?”

A lazy shrug lifted one bare shoulder into view.

“Guess I’ll talk to you later, then, or never,” Gladio said, moving to terminate their connection. Nyx raised his hands in surrender, his face screwed up in laughter that Gladio couldn’t hear. He _did_ hear it once he unmuted the comm.

“Oh fuck, you should have seen your face. I touched on a nerve there, yeah? What happened, you get rejected already?” Nyx asked.

“Not exactly,” Gladio muttered, tapping his metallic knuckles against the console’s surface.

“Talking to me isn’t gonna help your cause. Now that you and your insane cyborg strength are light years away, I should mention that he knows about our, uh…” Nyx waved his free hand as he searched for semi-appropriate vocabulary, “History, yeah, we’ll go with that.”

“Huh,” Gladio said, working that knowledge around his wired brain for a few seconds. “How much history?”

Nyx lowered his voice to a whisper. “All of it, scarface. _All_ of it.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. Did you know that Coalition Intelligence can request copies of any security feed, civvie or no? Including the ones in the hallway of my, in your words, fucking shithouse apartment building?”

_Oh._ Shitting Astrals. _That_ time. Gladio contemplated spacing himself for several excruciating seconds as his face heated.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Gladio snapped, embarrassment transmuting to irritation. “You trying to start shit? First you warn me off him, now this?”

“Hell no, Amicitia. I’m trying… fuck, I dunno, to be the bigger person for a change, yeah? I might hate him, and trust me, I have a damn good reason to, but it doesn’t mean you should—”

The sound of footfalls down the corridor caught Gladio’s attention. He held a hand up, three fingers extended, and Nyx fell silent immediately at the use of Gladio’s signal for quiet. Good to know Gladio could count on those old instincts, at least. When the footsteps drew closer, Gladio turned to see who it was and breathed a sigh of relief to see Prompto instead of Ignis.

The relief didn’t last very fucking long, however.

“Hi, Gladio!” Prompto called, heading straight for him and the terminal like a heat seeking missile. He was gunless for a change, which made him look a lot smaller, but what Gladio could see was all wiry muscle. “Ooooh, hey, good to see you using the QCN. Wish I had someone to comm! Who ya talking to?” He shimmied right beside Gladio, craning his neck to get a better view of the monitor, then gasped. “No way. No _freakin’_ way.”

“Who’s the kid?” Nyx asked from the vidfeed, not bothering to hide his shit-eating grin at Gladio’s obvious annoyance.

“It _is_ you,” Prompto breathed, “Nyx Ulric, _the_ Rusher Nyx Ulric. Holy crap, I totally forgot you two were in the same unit. You’re like, the best phaser in the whole Coalition. I named ‘Coeurl’ after you—that’s one of my guns, by the way—cause of your lightning kukris. Wow.”

When Nyx started to preen under the attention, Gladio heaved a huge sigh. Now he was annoyed with _both_ of them. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Hell yeah you have!” Prompto exclaimed, half draped over Gladio’s arm to get a better view of Nyx. “I read the report on the Glaive operation on Leide, the one where you phased up a _whole flying communications tower_ and took out the guards and demo’d the tower, all by yourself. That’s like, the whole reason we kept Leide as a Coalition territory at all. The Empire’s comms were scrambled for weeks.”

“Okay, I don’t care who he is, I like him,” Nyx said to Gladio, his eyes flicking to Prompto afterwards. “What’s your name?”

“Prompto Argentum, ace sniper and mechanic, at your service! Oh em gee, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“Prompto, you done being a fanboy so I can get back to my conversation?” Gladio asked, his temper simmering.

“No no, don’t be an asshole, scarface. Just because you forget I’m a legend doesn’t mean everyone has,” Nyx said with a wink. “Astrals, you have as much metal in your face as scarface has in his augments.” The last bit was directed to Prompto.

“Your funeral,” Gladio said. He stepped aside to allow Prompto better access without having him rest his entire body weight on Gladio’s arm.

“Oh man, tell me everything, I wanna know it all. How’d you learn to phase? What quantum phasing module did you pick for your implant? How did you and Gladio meet? What was he like as a CO? Before the augments? Is the generator in your kukris electrostatic or electromag? Coeurl has an electromag, but I always wondered if static might have been better. What do your tattoos mean? What’s your favourite make and model of ranged weapon? How did you manage to phase across _an entire river in one warp_?” Prompto leaned closer to the terminal with every question, his nose centimeters away from the screen by the time he finished.

“Holy shit, kid—Prompto—you’re a bit energetic, yeah? I’m not sure I caught half of that,” Nyx said with a laugh.

“Sorry. Noct tells me I need to talk slower, but I can’t help it. I can’t believe it’s really you,” Prompto said, elbows on the console and chin in his hands.

“Tell you what, let me finish up with Amicitia and he can give you my comm frequency after. You can interrogate me at a more decent hour to your heart’s content,” Nyx said with a lopsided grin.

“Really?” Prompto’s nose might have been touching the screen at that point—Gladio wasn’t sure.

“Really and truly,” Nyx said.

“Deal!” Prompto chirped, slapping Gladio on the outside of his bicep. A hiss of pain followed. “Ouch, forgot about those. ‘K, I’m off, before I spend the next quadrant getting an Ignis lecture.” He tapped his temple with a forefinger and skipped out of the common area.

Once Gladio was alone again, he stared at the vidfeed. “You have no idea what a can of worms you just opened, Ulric. You gonna have time to comm?”

“Probably,” Nyx said, his smile fading and expression thoughtful. “Fucking Astrals, I’ve been stationed as permanent guard at the Citadel. G... they’re pulling back all of Glaive Ops to Insomnia. From what I hear, a shit-ton of the Coalition fleet’s getting recalled, too. Dunno what’s going on, but change is in the air. We’re bunkering down.”

“Really? Shit,” Gladio said. “Double shit. That’s not good.”

“No,” Nyx agreed, “It’s not.”

{Gladio? Need you on the bridge for a sec, we’re getting a strange readout from the defense station,} Noct said over the Armiger.

“Fuck. I’ve gotta run, Nyx. Duty calls and all that,” Gladio said.

“Yeah, yeah, get to it. Just one more thing before you go.”

“What?” Gladio’s finger hovered over the disconnect button.

“Your face looks like the ass end of the garula, LT. You forget how to use a razor out there?”

“Bye, Ulric.”

A few taps later, the vidfeed vanished, and Gladio made his way to the bridge.

* * *

Gladio made it eight nights—days, cycles, whatever you wanted to call them in space where time was relative and constantly changing—before a nightmare.

First came the falling, falling for an eternity and a half, falling so fast it snatched the air from his lungs and left none to scream with. Falling was like flying but with no control and no destination, and with no control Gladio’s heart rate spiked to a near-lethal pace. Too much blood being forced through his veins, not enough oxygen carried in it, his organs starving for air, and nothing but a slate gray sky above him.

He hit the glassy teal water with a sharp, stinging pain, hit it hard enough to break his bones if they were still breakable by normal means. Gladio found himself wearing his armor, armor that weighed him down sure as the stone he wished he could be. A cool rush of liquid began to flood the cracks in the plate, the overwhelming concentration of salt stinging Gladio’s eyes and drawing tears from them. 

As he sank, bodies fell into the water above him, beside him, suspended like macabre puppets. Iris with skin of wax and eyes of glass. His father in formal uniform, a hole blown clean through his chest, the cauterization enough to staunch the trickle of blood from his lifeless form.

Nyx—half of Nyx, oh, _gods_ , a half in gory pieces that threatened to snatch away Gladio’s consciousness but didn’t quite. The torn limbs and jutting bones left Gladio gagging in his helmet.

He saw Prompto too, back arched, tattooed arms lifted up as though entreating the sky to save him. Crimson clouds of blood billowed from his open mouth and nose and ears, blood that should be inside, Gladio thought, be inside, no, _no, put it back._

And Noct. _Noct._

Noct sunk beneath the surface very much alive, writhing, struggling to get back up to air and life. A stream of bubbles poured from Noct as he screamed, an offering to terror. He met Gladio’s eyes with his own, blazing magenta light now, no trace of blue to be seen. Pale fingers splayed out in a desperate gesture. Noct mouthed a single, simple word.

_Help._

Icy water filled Gladio’s helmet. His teeth chattered, a little water slipping between his lips each time. He wasn’t just sinking now, he plummeted, dragged into the black depths of a bottomless ocean. He prayed to fall unconscious, to die, to _anything_ , anything that would keep him from seeing the pinpricks of magenta light far above him. Noct, alive, but not for long, because Gladio failed.

He failed.

It was with thoughts of failure that he succumbed.

The dreamscape shifted and oh, Gladio was very much alive again; alive and swarmed with MTs and flesh-and-blood Niffs alike, a cacophony of explosions filling his head. They’ve surrounded him, they’ve buried him. He reached for his weapons and found nothing but his augmented fists.

Rage and panic surged within him. The fists would have to do.

He tore flesh and metal alike, a wild, rabid creature. He wasn’t Gladio anymore, he was a weapon, the weapon they made him into. He didn’t think. Thinking would lead to morals would lead to disgust would lead to death. His hands were slick with fluid, red blood and black oil, as he ripped off limbs like paper. It took no effort at all, and were he not consumed with terrorized fury, that thought would shake him to his core.

He freed himself from the heavy weight of still corpses, covered in viscera up to his elbows. All he could smell was copper and iron and blood. Then, he heard clapping.

Ignis. Oh, no, not Ignis. Not him. Anyone but him. Gladio’s thoughts were an avalanche. _Don’t let him see me like this don’t let him see me I should be dead I’m a monster I’m a thing I’m a failure I’m—_

Ignis clapped, each clap too loud in the sudden silence.

“Well done. You’ve passed the final test.”

Rage burned, burned through his arteries and clouded his mind. No more fucking tests, no more fucking experiments. Gladio snarled and lunged. His fingers closed around Ignis’s arm and he pulled…

“ _Gladiolus._ ”

The word was too soft to be a dream. Gladio blinked, each pass of his eyelids bringing a new sensation of reality into focus. He was back in his room. He was drenched in sweat despite his blankets being tossed aside and being stripped down to his boxers. His chest heaved like he’d just finished an Academy obstacle course. His heart roared like the Regalia’s engine, each beat powered by fear and adrenaline.

Ignis stood in front of him. Gladio was sitting on his bed, gripping Ignis’s forearm as hard as he could with no thought to controlling his strength. Dimly, the idea occurred to Gladio that Ignis’s arm should be crushed, but his emerald eyes were filled with more worry than pain. 

“Shit. Shitshitshit. I’m sorry, Iggy, I’m sorry,” Gladio chanted, scrambling backwards on his bed away from Ignis until he hit the wall. “Gods, I’m so sorry.” His thoughts jumbled together, glitching out each time he tried to speak. 

{Gladiolus. It’s alright. You’re alright. It was a nightmare.}

Hearing Ignis’s calm, soothing voice in his head helped bring the world into focus.

“I hurt you.” The words snapped apart in the middle.

Ignis knelt at the side of the bed and reached out to rest his hand on Gladio’s knee. {Not as much as you fear. I might bruise, but otherwise, I’ll be perfectly fine.}

Gladio hesitated and took Ignis’s hand in his, the intense need for a grounding touch outweighing his embarrassment. Several seconds passed before Gladio’s terror-fogged brain realized Ignis wasn’t wearing gloves. Several _more_ seconds passed before Gladio registered another astonishing discovery.

“Uh, Ignis? Are you… glowing, or have I lost my mind?”

Gladio watched as Ignis squeezed his hand. Yup, that was light beneath the pale, soft skin. It reminded Gladio of the way his augments followed the ligaments of his own hands, except the streaks were thin and veiny. The squeeze triggered a flash like lightning under flesh, still muted but brighter than when Ignis kept his fingers still. He stared as Ignis rubbed his thumb back and forth along Gladio’s augments, dim blue flickers pulsing with every movement.

{It seems that you’ve earned a third fact for today. I am, as you say, glowing.}

It was enough to make Gladio crack a tiny smile. He felt like he was finally getting oxygen with every breath now instead of uselessly sucking at air. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?” Gladio’s gaze flipped between Ignis’s hand and face.

{You were calling for me through the Armiger. I… came,} Ignis demurred, turning his face to the side and giving Gladio a view of his chiseled profile.

Fucking shit.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio repeated. “Noct didn’t show me how to turn off the fucking comm part of the Armiger. Should have known my shitting nightmares wouldn’t leave it alone.”

{Quite alright. If anything, I owe you an apology for my reluctance to teach you. Noct is an adequate instructor, but I theorized that the intensity of your nightmares might cause an accidental activation of the Armiger and should have taken precautions.}

Gladio snorted. “Leave it to you to make concern sound like a fucking scientific thesis.”

Ignis, still kneeling, raised an eyebrow at Gladio. He felt a little breathless for a different reason as he took in the hair feathered across Ignis’s forehead, his perfect face bare without a visor, the _glowing hands_ in the dim light of his room, and the deep purple sleep shirt that fell open at Ignis’s throat. The panic that wound his spine in knots was slowly beginning to subside.

Gladio scooted to the edge of the bed at the same time that Ignis released Gladio’s hand and stood. He tipped his head back, eyes locked on Ignis.

“You sure you’re okay? I’m so, so fucking sorry. The last thing I’d want is to hurt you,” Gladio asked, frowning.

Ignis trailed his fingers down Gladio’s bearded cheek and continued speaking over the Armiger. {To answer your question, yes, I’ll be fine. And as to having no desire to hurt me, here’s a fourth fact—I know.}

He knew. Of course Ignis knew, he knew everything, and for once Gladio didn’t care. But that didn’t stop his curiosity now that the fear was ebbing.

“Why do you do that? Talk in my head instead of out loud?” Gladio asked. He longed to wrap his arms around Ignis’s waist, to rest his head against that defined chest, to kiss the taut stomach peeking out from under Ignis’s rucked shirt, but he kept his hands on his thighs, flat and safe. His bare thighs, he noted again.

Fuck it. Since when had he cared about a lack of clothing anyway? There were way bigger things to be ashamed about than that tonight, if he was gonna pick one to beat himself up over. The fact that he’d called out over the shitting Armiger for Ignis without even knowing. The fact that he’d lost control. The fact that, had it been anyone else, there wouldn’t be much of an arm left to speak of. His thoughts dialed back the intensity of the desire that loomed just out of reach.

“It’s… easier for me. I can stop, if you’d prefer,” Ignis replied aloud. Though the sensation was dulled by the nanocarbonite, he was too aware of Ignis’s hand resting on his shoulder, his fingertips idly tracing the gaps in Gladio’s augments.

Gladio swallowed hard and, now that he was thinking sort of straight, connected to the Armiger. {No. No, I kinda like it, actually. Is that weird?}

Ignis’s sharp, indrawn breath made his stomach lurch. {Not at all, Gladiolus. Not at all.}

How could Ignis make his name into balm and benediction all in one? Gladio decided then and there that Ignis would be the one person he gave permission to call him ‘Gladiolus’ whenever he fucking felt like it. But thinking of other people made him think of Noct and Prompto.

{The others didn’t… didn’t hear anything, did they?} Gladio hated that he even cared, but at the same time, he didn’t need his shitting nightmares undercutting his authority in the field.

{No. You only established a connection to me.}

{That figures,} Gladio transmitted with a shake of his head. {Seems like I’m better at staying away from you awake than I am when I’m asleep.} 

Ignis tilted his face to one side and drew his lower lip between his teeth; the sight sent an aching surge of need through Gladio, a need that was getting more difficult to fight by the second. {I should take my leave now that you’ve recovered. But…}

{Anything. Well, almost anything.} Gladio reached out to touch Ignis’s arm where he’d grabbed it earlier, the touch as light as he could make it, an apology without words.

{I realize I have no right to ask this, but might I hold you? Just for a moment?}

There was no stopping the broadcast of his reaction over the Armiger, his heart fit to explode like one of Crowe’s concoctions.

{ _Fuck._ I mean… yeah. Yes. Please, Ignis. I’d like that.}

Ignis stepped forward and looped a single arm around Gladio’s shoulders. He scraped blunt fingernails gently across Gladio’s scalp with his free hand, back and forth, the motion sending a shudder through his entire rebuilt body.

The height of Gladio’s bed put his face level with Ignis’s chest. He gave into his earlier urge to encircle Ignis’s waist in his arms, the gesture slow and infinitely careful. Ignis’s heartbeat echoed his own, hard and fierce underneath Gladio’s ear as he laid his head against the firm plane of Ignis’s chest. A moment turned into two into many as they stayed locked together, enmeshed in each other. Ignis’s body became Gladio’s gravity; no matter the direction or angle, he would plummet towards Ignis, again and again. The breathy sigh Ignis gave as Gladio rubbed circles in the small of his back was almost enough to undo all his fucking principles entirely.

It undid him enough to forgo a few.

{You mind staying a while? Until I fall asleep?}

Ignis’s fingers faltered on Gladio’s scalp before he answered. {Of course.}

They pulled apart, and for a painstaking instant all Gladio wanted was to be in Ignis’s arms again. But the memory of Ignis’s calculated distance was still too fresh, and the terror of his nightmare was still too real, and if there had been a moment, it had already passed.

As Gladio settled back into his bed, Ignis pulled over the room’s single chair and sat beside him. Ignis extended a hand to Gladio which he took, lacing their fingers together. Gladio’s eyes were drawn to the soft glow under Ignis’s skin, the rippling lights like comets streaking across the sky, when Ignis squeezed his hand again.

He didn’t risk meeting Ignis’s eyes, scared of what feelings he might find in that penetrating gaze, and closed his own instead.

{Thanks, Iggy.}

{You’re welcome. Good night, Gladiolus.}

{‘Night.}

Sleep came more easily than ever.

Gladio tried not to feel too disappointed when he woke up alone. He failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading if you made it this far! I'm so happy to be able to share this story with you, and things are ramping up. Comments are loved eternally if you feel up to leaving one. <3
> 
> After this week's double update, the earliest I expect the next chapter will be 03/23. Thank you again!


	9. Coernix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some discussion, the crew visits Coernix Rings in order to resupply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever wonderful [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylianna). Special thanks to [roadsoftrial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial) and [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula) for their support and assistance with the idea generation machine.

At least real, honest to Astrals showers were a luxury that Gladio could indulge in aboard the Regalia.

State of the art everything, including water recyclers and reclamation, had its perks. He’d rather have a few more fucking guns, sure, but aside from one brush with a small Niff patrol, their course was set to take them through the ass end of nowhere route to Altissia. When Noct had gone over the flight plan with the team on the first day, he’d explained they’d only be using two hyperspace gates instead of the four that they could take. Gladio had questioned the choice—they’d need more frequent resupplies and the extra time would expose them to more unpredictable Niff forces—but had been overruled.

The pings of water dripping from his body to the metal floor were strangely loud to his augmented hearing. Or maybe the ship was just too fucking quiet. An unintended side effect of the Armiger Network was the eerie silence that could take over the Regalia. On previous deployments, Gladio was accustomed to noise at all hours of the ‘day,’ anything from conversations to maintenance to snores cutting through the makeshift barracks. Now it was pretty much him and his thoughts.

Thoughts that made for shit company all around.

Gladio took a few steps out of the stall and leaned over to press a switch on the opposite wall. The broad, matching floor and ceiling panels of the flash dryer emitted enough heat to tug a sigh from Gladio as he stood between them, rolling his shoulders and neck as the equipment did its work. Once dry, he grabbed his underwear, socks, and sweats from the nearby column of shelves that served as storage and pulled them on. He realized he’d left his singlet back in his quarters, but it didn’t matter much. He’d just grab it when he got back.

With his comm in hand, Gladio positioned himself at the octagonal sink he’d unofficially designated as his. Resting the comm on the stainless steel lip below the mirror, he began loading the diagnostic program for his augments as he gathered his toothbrush and razor. Gladio thought they were antiquated terms for the miniscule pulsating device and the (safety covered) lasers that constituted both items, but shit, whatever worked.

An image detailing his augments popped up on the comm’s screen after he’d finished working the toothbrush around his mouth but before he’d started trimming back his beard. 

_Status: green. Neurological connections: normal. Musculoskeletal connections: normal. Damage: negative. Latency: negative. Other errors: negative._

The usual, then.

He’d tried to convince himself that it wasn’t Nyx’s jab _or_ Ignis’s regard making him sculpt his beard into a more manageable shape, but he was probably kidding himself. After shortening its length all around, he cleaned up the edges, sharpening them around his lips and clearing the scruff under his neck altogether. The laser made short work of the task, and soon Gladio was satisfied with the results of his work.

He avoided looking in the mirror for longer than necessary. He hadn’t had any incidents where the person in the mirror wasn’t the person in his mind, but better to err on the side of caution. Just in case.

Once his supplies were tucked back behind the mirror of his sink, he left the washroom. Gladio tucked his elbows in to avoid scraping the walls of the communal space with the metal-covered joints as he went to leave—there was one thin, long scratch along the polished black of the wall where he’d failed to consider his augments. Maybe Prompto and Noct were comfortable in here, but he suspected even Ignis had some trouble squeezing his lithe frame in the cramped partitions of the room.

No, Gladio reminded his stupid bitch of a brain, there will be no imagining of Ignis in showers today. There wouldn’t be any wondering exactly _how_ much of him glowed, either. Shitting fuck. 

His heavy black boots rested by the automatic doors, waiting to be stepped in. Gladio did so and turned the corner to go back to his quarters. Right as he made his way down the hall and reached the outside of his room, his hearing caught the sound of voices issuing from the direction of the bridge.

“... not listening to me, Specs!”

“The fact that I’m not telling you what you’d like to hear doesn’t preclude my ability to listen.”

“Oh, now we’re getting into the fancy words. Nice.”

Huh. The smarter half of Gladio wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, hole up in his quarters, and maybe take a good, long nap until the start of his next shift. Catching up on reading would do nicely, failing the nap. The less rational part wanted to know what the raised voices were about.

He compromised by ducking into his room, getting a singlet from his closet, sliding it on, and heading back towards the bridge. Once he was up the stairs and on the bridge proper, he found Noct and Ignis hovering over the monitors at Noct’s station. Both of their heads snapped towards Gladio.

“Hey?” Gladio said, part question and part greeting, his own gaze drifting to the Regalia’s viewscreen. Their plotted course had them passing by a nebula in this sector, and he could just begin to see its swirling colours in the distance, pinks and purples and whites forming a sparkling and beautiful cloud.

“Specs and I were just talking about stopping to refuel and resupply. _He_ thinks—” Noct paused to shoot a glare in Ignis’s direction, “That we should wait until after the next hyperspace gate. Prom thinks we’ll run out of fuel before then at the pace we’ve set for the Regalia, and I trust his judgement.”

Ignis peered at Noct through his visor but remained silent. After a pregnant pause, Noct blew a breath out between his lips with a flapping noise.

“If you’re gonna be rude, you may as well say it out loud so _everyone_ can hear,” Noct said.

“I merely suggested that if your judgement were as well-developed as Prompto’s capacity for speech, perhaps you’d reconsider this foolish notion.”

Gladio doubted that those were the exact words Ignis had used. He was also beginning to think he’d made the wrong fucking choice in coming to the bridge.

“Why are you putting up such a fight on this?” Noct asked.

“While I also trust Prompto’s intuition regarding these matters, I’ve run the mathematical calculations myself. We’ve more than enough fuel to get us past the next gate without needing to resupply. Stopping to resupply at Coernix only exposes us to additional risk that we need not undertake,” Ignis said. His sea green eyes darted between Gladio and Noct as though waiting for Gladio to jump in and offer his opinion.

Fuck that. He’d wait ‘til someone asked him directly.

“If we can’t handle a simple resupply at Coernix, how are we gonna handle Altissia? I say it’s better to get a feel for things now before we’re in the thick of things,” Noct replied, chin tilted up.

“I’ve shown you the reports, Noctis. Coernix is a civilian outlet that isn’t under Imperial control at this point, but Imperial sympathizers abound, not to mention the smugglers and other unsavory types that congregate there due to its convenient location away from most Lucian and Imperial patrol routes.”

“And I’ve _read_ the reports, taken them into consideration, and still think we’re better off topping up than trying to ride out on fumes,” Noct shot back. His eyes were starting to emit a gentle magenta glow—Gladio might have missed it if he wasn’t staring so intently.

“Thank the Astrals for small miracles,” Ignis snapped, an acrid bite to his tone, “such as His Royal Highness deigning to read the reports provided to him at his request, but it doesn’t change my opinion. You’re of no use to any of us if you’re shot by petty thieves during a supply run.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me that I’m basically only here for my blood or whatever,” Noct growled, pacing back and forth on the bridge. “Gladio, what do you think? You’re the one with the most experience in the field out of all of us.”

Gladio blinked. “Sorry, I need more details first. I know of Coernix hubs, but I don’t have the most recent intel. Wanna fill me in?”

Noct whipped back towards the terminal and had a string of commands punched in before Gladio could so much as take a single step. The inputs brought up a holographic display to the side of the main station. Gladio positioned himself close and leaned in to examine the data, his eyes roving over the information.

{Tell him this idea is utter rubbish,} Ignis said to Gladio through the Armiger.

Gladio ignored Ignis for the time being as he considered the most recent reports. “This doesn’t look too bad, actually. I’m inclined to agree with Princess. We have a cyborg, a sniper, you, and whatever the fuck a Prince trained by Cor the Immortal looks like. If shit goes south, we should be able to handle it.”

“ _Should_ and _can_ are two entirely different premises, Gladiolus,” Ignis said.

“Hate to break it to you, _Iggy_ , but we can’t account for every single variable. We’re sorta stuck weighing the odds as best we can guess, and in this case, I’m with Noct. Ending up dead in the water and waiting for rescue is a lot shittier of an alternative than risking a confrontation on Coernix,” Gladio said, leveling his gaze at Ignis.

Ignis’s lips and eyebrows scrunched together in unison, but he said nothing.

“So, that mean you’re gonna re-route the ship like I asked?” Noct asked.

“I suppose I’ve been overruled,” Ignis said, adjusting his visor with silver-clad fingers and staring Gladio down so hard he may as well have been materializing daggers. 

“Hey,” Gladio said, holding his hands up, “I’m just sayin’ what I think makes the most sense. What’s our ETA on docking at Coernix?”

“Maintaining our current speed and course, we’ll be in the vicinity of Coernix station in 33 standard hours,” Ignis said, all composure once more, expression neutral.

“I’ll make sure I’m ready. See you in a bit for my shift,” Gladio said.

“Of course.”

“Later, Gladio,” Noct added.

Gladio knew he shouldn’t have lingered but he did anyway. Ignis studiously avoided his gaze, examining everything from the Coernix reports on the terminal to the swirling nebula visible from the Regalia’s fore. He avoided it so well, in fact, that Noct caught Gladio’s attention and raised one dark eyebrow in a silent question. Gladio shrugged a metal-clad shoulder in response before about-facing and leaving the bridge.

Once he was back in his quarters, Ignis spoke over the Armiger.

{Are you certain this is a wise decision?}

{Wise? Fuck no. Necessary? Yeah. Ignis, we need to get our bearings as a team. Managing an easy in-and-out supply run should be no sweat.} Gladio sat down heavily on the edge of his bed as he transmitted to Ignis.

{Perhaps it would be best if we left Noctis and Prompto aboard the Regalia while we complete whatever tasks need to be accomplished.}

Gladio frowned at nothing in particular. {You worried they can’t handle themselves?}

{No, they’re both quite competent.}

{Then we got nothin’ to worry about.}

* * *

32.5 hours later, Gladio was strapped into his station, practicing constructing and deconstructing his weapon modules from the Armiger. He kept one eye on his station terminal’s scrolling status feed for any abnormalities. Pulling his weapons out of the Armiger’s quantum fuckery pocket was a similar process to the trigger images used for its comm features, but he’d waved Ignis off when he started to explain in more detail. Fucking strange tech, but at least it came easier to him than the weird mind-to-mind shit the whole crew loved to use.

Besides, he _really_ liked the idea of being able to whip out Apocalypse on a whim, particularly in situations where he had to duck scanners. He liked that idea a whole fucking lot more than the idea of strutting into Coernix—into anywhere—in the getup they had him in.

In fact…

“Why the fuck am I covered head to toe in leather and synthweave anyway?” Gladio asked, twisting in his station to look at Noct across the bridge. 

Noct gave a quiet laugh, the sound distorted by the modulator in his hooded mask. “If you’re covered head to toe, what does that make me?”

“The Prince of the Lucian Coalition,” Gladio muttered, though Noct had a point. He was cloaked in a hybrid cloth-armor construction complete with built-in accent lights and a full coverage mask. At least he had some degree of armor, Gladio thought with a grimace.

“Seems more suspicious to me to run around with my face hidden, but…” Noct said, shrugging one shoulder, the illuminated silver lenses of his mask beaming at Gladio.

“As we discussed, it’s not unusual for certain individuals to disguise their appearance. Coernix’s security regulations are quite lax in comparison to the Citadel’s or to Altissia’s, so I don’t anticipate any problems on that front,” Ignis supplied, focus trained on the monitors orbiting the pilot’s station. 

“What’s the excuse for my getup?” Gladio asked Ignis, sweeping his free hand from the belt and buckle covered leather pants to the skintight long sleeve synthweave shirt, all of it black. The thick leather vest was just the icing on the fucking cake. 

“If our cover story is that of a contracted transport crew with a reputation of protecting their cargo, we’d best look the part, yes? Besides, concealing your augmentations will prove advantageous in any combat situations.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ignis’s hands resting on the Regalia’s controls, covered with new elbow-length black leather gloves. They looked like they could have been plucked from one of the high budget vids Nyx had been fond of dragging him to back on Lucis, and in true Ignis fashion, he managed to wear them without appearing ridiculous.

“Still feel like a goddamn sausage stuffed in a casing,” Gladio grumbled, shifting in his seat and returning his focus to his station.

“Cheer up, big guy. I stress tested all this stuff back on Lucis. It’ll hold up for what we need. And besides, you look great,” Prompto said brightly from his seat, on the bridge instead of the engine room for a change. His… uniform, if Gladio could call it that… didn’t seem much different than his usual clothing. More black, more zippers, and more leather maybe, but he still opted for a vest that exposed his tattooed arms. 

{He’s not wrong on either point,} Ignis added through the Armiger.

Fucking hell.

“Last thing I’m worried about is how I look,” Gladio stressed, scuffing the floor of the bridge with a booted foot. “It’s time to get our game faces on. You two have Coernix’s layout loaded to your neurolinks?” He didn’t bother including Ignis since he was the one who provided the map in the first place. 

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Noct drawled in his mask-distorted voice.

“Roger that,” Prompto echoed.

“No fucking around once we’re docked and on the station. We’ve got our list of supplies, we know where to get ‘em, and we’re sticking together the whole time. Should be nice and easy,” Gladio said.

“I’m in agreement with Gladiolus,” Ignis added.

Sure, _now_ he agreed with Gladio. That hadn’t been the case a standard day ago. Shitting Astrals.

Thankfully he didn’t have the time or inclination to dwell on Ignis. The Rings of Coernix themselves had finally come into view through the Regalia’s undimmed viewpane. Gladio hadn’t visited this one in particular, though there were a handful Coernix stations positioned throughout Starsystem Eos that he had visited for one reason or another. This one was by far the largest, a free floating behemoth of four interconnected gunmetal circles that housed the station’s contents. The lowest tier was also the largest, serving as the docking and transit hub, and Gladio could just make out a smattering of ships already docked. 

“Fair bit of traffic today,” Gladio commented. “Can you get us access to the port roster, Iggy? I’d like to see the guest list.”

“Once whatever excuse they have for a port authority clears us for docking, accessing their systems and obtaining the public port roster shouldn’t be any trouble,” Ignis replied.

Gladio felt the ship’s sudden descent towards the lower ring in his gut despite the Regalia’s stabilizers. As they continued their approach, he scanned the viewpane and surveyed the visible ships to confirm that there were no obviously Niff vessels docked. It was quite fucking possible, no, _guaranteed_ that there’d be some sort of Niff presence on the station, but judging by the ships Gladio could see, it wouldn’t be a strong military one. They were far enough out from both Coalition and Empire to warrant either group vying for control of a non-essential resource.

{I’m going to initiate contact with the station momentarily. Consider this your reminder that I’m to direct the conversation,} Ignis said as he reached up to punch a series of keys on one of the translucent silver terminals.

{Like I want to talk to the stupid port authority.} There was so much sarcasm loaded in the statement that Gladio could imagine the roll of Noct’s eyes behind his mask.

{Yes, well, we mustn’t have you doing things you don’t wish to do.}

{Low blow, Specs.} 

Gladio kind of agreed, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to jump in. He learned to let them sort their own shit out if he didn’t want to get dragged through it two standard days ago. Prompto met his eyes from across the bridge with an apologetic lift of his shoulders.

{They get like this sometimes. It’ll be fine.}

Yeah, he certainly fucking hoped it would. Gladio shrugged in return and focused his attention back on the pilot’s station.

He traced the edges of the augments that curved behind his ear—a new nervous tic he couldn’t help—as Ignis opened up communications with Coernix Rings station. A new panel appeared front and centre of the Regalia’s bridge as the vidfeed connection was established. Gladio could have gone without ever having seen the fat, greasy faced man in high def, but here he was, seeing it anyway. 

“This is the Coernix Rings Port Authority. Please transmit your vessel and personnel registrar immediately for review,” the worker droned in a nasal voice.

“Transmitting now,” Ignis said.

It took Gladio’s brain several slow, churning moments to realize both the attendant and Ignis were speaking in Empyrean. Gladio was a fair hand at the Niff’s official language—courses were mandatory at the Academy, and his dad had started teaching him long before he enrolled—but he would be way out of fucking practice if he ended up having to speak it.

A new, ghostly light illuminated the attendant’s grey uniform and exposed a large grease stain on the front of his shirt. His face scrunched in concentration, beady eyes moving across an unseen display.

“Stand by for crosscheck,” the worker said, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of a sleeve before focusing once more.

{Ewwwww,} Prompto groaned through the Armiger, and for once, Gladio was inclined to agree with the kid.

Gladio watched as Ignis leaned back in the reclined pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest. He couldn’t see his expression from this angle, but he was willing to bet there was a laser-precise eyebrow raised in the vidfeed’s direction.

“This says your vessel is size class 1-I-C, correct?”

“That is indeed the specification listed on the registrar,” Ignis replied. Good to know he could still manage that cool, clipped tone even in a language where consonants were nearly nonexistent.

Gladio’s gaze drifted to the clock on his visor’s display. The three excruciating minutes of silence passed before the attendant spoke again. 

“I’m transferring your approval to disembark at dock A-7, _N.I.V. Stilledolk_. Enjoy your stay at Coernix Rings.”

Shit. Whatever Ignis, or King Regis, or _whoever_ had done to get them documents for a bona fide Niff ID had actually worked.

“Thank you,” Ignis said, terminating the feed as soon as the attendant finished his sentence. He switched back to Lucian as he added, “Gladiolus, I’ll transmit the port roster to your terminal momentarily.”

The Regalia continued its descent towards the bottom ring. They had gotten close enough that the viewpane was filled with the scratched and battered exterior of the Coernix Rings. Gladio scanned the list of docked ships Ignis had provided him, but as he suspected, he found nothing of interest. Anyone who didn’t want to announce their presence would find a way to hide it, much like they had, but at least he could say he checked.

Gladio heard the tell tale thud and hum of the Regalia’s docking hatch being locked to the magnetic couplings of the Rings. There was one lurch, a gentle back and forth swaying, and then the Regalia fell completely still. Gladio heard the others unfasten their restraints as he did the same, rising from his chair; terminals around the bridge winked out of existence as the Regalia was put into standby power.

Prompto clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “Awwww yeah, here we go, shopping time!”

“Prom, we’re not here to browse. ‘Sides, I wanna get out of this musty mask ASAP,” Noct said with an elbow to Prompto’s ribs.

“Hey, watch it, you’ve got armor on that thing!” Prompto exclaimed, shoving Noct as they ambled forward at a glacial pace.

Gladio sighed. “Less talking, more walking,” he said, ushering Noct and Prompto in front of him towards the bridge’s exit.

“Indeed,” Ignis added as he fell into step beside Gladio, “We still have a rather massive Imperial fleet to outmaneuver, so time is of the essence.”

“Time is _always_ of the essence. Time has _become_ the essence,” Noct said as he went down the stairs.

“This venture was your idea, Princess, so there’s no use complainin’ about it now,” Gladio reminded. Shitting Astrals, maybe he’d made a mistake in supporting this little outing.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. And stop calling me that,” Noct muttered, the words jumbled and barely understandable through the mask’s distortion.

Soon Gladio found himself clustered in the airlock with the rest of his crew. A klaxon sounded as pressure stabilization and decontamination protocols activated. He didn’t much see the point in detam when they hadn’t set foot on any other locales yet, but the chemical disinfectant spray and sterilization sweep was as familiar as the back of his hand. Gladio popped his ears to relieve the discomfort as the interior of the airlock matched the atmosphere inside the Rings.

“Noct, you’re to stay within arms reach of either Gladio or myself at all times whilst on the Rings. Do I make myself clear?” Ignis asked, his black overcoat fluttering at his thighs as the air inside the room settled. He could look terrifying on normal days, but the blackened visor and sharp cut of his Crownsguard digs only emphasized that fact today.

“Crystal.” There was a twist to Noct’s lips that was gone as fast as it came, and truthfully, Gladio was relieved he didn’t put up a fucking fight about the order.

Ignis rested his palm on the airlock’s control panel and the doors whooshed open. No one argued when Gladio pushed forward and exited the Regalia ahead of the others. He knew the others followed behind him, his hearing nuanced enough to make out the variations in their footfalls. Noct’s were heavy—he’d have to talk with him about that—Prompto’s were lighter but fast, and Ignis’s could barely be heard at all.

The industral grey walkway connecting their dock to the bottom ring was fairly short. There was a grid-like configuration of green lasers that Gladio assumed was some sort of security scan, which the four of them passed through without issue. Once Gladio approached the wide set of doors at the end, they opened automatically, revealing the bottom level proper.

The first thing Gladio noticed was the crush of people. It made sense that this would be a busy part of Coernix since all traffic had to pass through the area, but he turned and placed a hand on Noct’s shoulder before continuing.

“I know Iggy already said so, but stay close, okay?”

“I got it the first seven hundred times,” Noct said, irritation plain in his voice.

“So,” Prompto piped up from beside Noct, “Second ring is the commerce level, right? We should head there first and grab the fuel cells and the other stuff on our list?”

“That is the plan,” Ignis said. “Follow me.”

Gladio had assumed they’d stick out a little with the (in his humble opinion) over the top outfits, but he was quickly relieved of that notion as he scanned the crowd. If anything, they looked a little too _clean_ in comparison to some of the denizens of Coernix Rings, but not enough to draw attention to themselves. The familiar stale smell of recycled air combined with the ripe tang of unwashed bodies was like a shitty homecoming to Gladio, though it had been on cramped cruisers instead of civilian outposts like this.

Other than the people and a few standalone cubical buildings that Gladio suspected were security stations, the level was rather empty. It would be pretty fucking difficult to lose sight of Ignis, but Gladio blinked through a few commands on his visor using his neurolink and pulled up the station map to get his bearings.

{The elevator should be just up ahead,} Ignis said through the Armiger, veering off sharply, heedless of the crowd.

Unsurprisingly, people just… shifted out of Gladio’s way as he moved along the curving thoroughfare. He kept checking his peripheral vision every so often to make sure Noct was still beside him, though he didn’t actually think Noct was fucking stupid enough to run off. Prompto positioned himself on Noct’s other side, relaxed but more alert than normal; Gladio could tell Prompto was scanning the crowd as much as he was.

Good.

The levels of Coernix Rings were connected by one large, central support shaft that also housed the transit elevators. Gladio had to gently nudge a few loitering people out of the way in order to make his way over to Ignis, who had already called an elevator and waited with his arms folded over his chest and back ramrod straight.

{Why wouldn’t they just set up teleporters? Seems super antiquated to rely on clunky old elevators. These aren’t even aerolifts,} Prompto remarked, head tilted up as he studied the column that housed the elevators.

Gladio thought about answering out loud but activated the Armiger instead. {Teleporters are a Niff thing. They took the tech from Galahd back when they conquered it. Plus, they’re damn expensive, especially for a civilian outfit.}

{Oh, right,} Prompto said, eyes forward and tapping a foot. 

An indicator light on the front of the elevator switched from red to green before the doors slid open. Gladio did his best to stay near Noct as the compartment filled with people—probably more people than recommended by manufacturing standards, but fuck, not like he was gonna police it. He ended up with his back against the wall, bookended on either side by Ignis and Noct. Instead of thinking too hard about the pleasant way Ignis’s body pressed against his, he focused on his visor, following their ascent to the second level of the Rings.

It went by quicker than Gladio thought it would given the sheer size of the station. He filed out along with the others in a line. Once they were clear of the masses waiting to change levels, he made sure Noct was still close and followed Ignis as he beckoned them to the side with a crook of four fingers. 

The commerce level was a convoluted maze of vendors shoved into every imaginable space. Gladio screwed his eyes shut for a moment as his augmented hearing adjusted, tuning out the cacophony to a manageable level. The cawing of various merchants, the rickety drone of the air recyclers, the array of flashing neon signs designed to catch the eye, and the nasty mixture of industrial and edible smells all combined was enough to cause a shitting seizure pre-augments. After a few breaths through his mouth to tamp down on his nausea, Gladio trained his eyes on Ignis, whose expression remained impassive.

{How are you not gagging? It’s fucking noxious in here,} Gladio said to Ignis. Or, he hoped he was saying it to Ignis—and only Ignis.

Ignis arched an eyebrow over the black glass of his tinted visor. {Truly, Gladiolus, I wouldn’t have expected such a small inconvenience to prove such a setback for you.}

Gladio narrowed his eyes. {You’re in a goddamn mood.}

Ignis lifted one shoulder in an approximation of a shrug but didn’t respond.

“C’mon, let’s keep moving,” Gladio said out loud, checking his map before starting towards the supply store Ignis had marked on it.

Noct and Prompto chatted over the Armiger as they wound through the narrow aisles. Every once in a while, Prompto would get distracted at one of the terminals that advertised a merchant’s wares, but Noct managed to pull him away before either Gladio or Ignis had to get involved. He wasn’t fucking sure what interested Prompto about a two metre stall full of lumpy polymer sculptures, but there was no accounting for what went through his hyperactive brain.

Gladio had barely registered the bright pink neon sign—Atronix & Co, except the ampersand’s light was burnt out—before Prompto beelined for the terminal. The merchant’s green-grey jumpsuit was oil stained in several places, but her face was scrubbed clean, a frizzy braid of black hair hanging over one shoulder. Prompto leaned across the counter and immediately engaged her in animated conversation, hands flying in wild gestures around the purchase terminal. He started in Lucian, but at a word from the woman switched to Empyrean, and pretty fucking good Empyrean from what Gladio could tell.

{Best ensure he doesn’t spend all our credits, Noctis. The funds in the shell account are limited,} Ignis said with a hint of long-suffering strain.

{I mean, I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I’ll try and reel Prom in,} Noct said.

{Consider this a prime example of the consequences of your neglected Empyrean lessons,} Ignis said, cool as Gladio wished the air inside Coernix was. The leather pants were starting to stick in real fuckin’ uncomfortable places.

Noct looked over his shoulder at Gladio, the silver lenses of his hooded mask almost subtle compared to the rest of the wild shit around them, and Gladio followed. Ignis kept his position a little ways away from the vendor, scouring the throng of people milling about the level.

Prompto finally procured their case of fuel cells along with a harried look from the Atronix merchant. The conversation had lasted longer than Gladio thought necessary due to some questionable turns regarding the woman’s personal engineering preferences, and clearly she agreed; Gladio offered her what he hoped was a charming grin and wave before steering Prompto away from the stall.

{Scored a deal, alright! As much as I hate putting stuff in the Armiger, think we can find a place so I can stash these? They’re kinda heavy,} Prompto said, lifting the padded steel case up a bit.

{According to the map, there should be a vacant area near waste disposal just beyond the next row of vendors. We should be able to utilize it to store the fuel cells,} Ignis supplied.

Gladio and the others reached the alcove in short order. The three of them formed a makeshift human barrier at its entrance to shield Prompto from view while he dematerialized the fuel cells into the Armiger’s storage.

As they were leaving the alley, Gladio felt an unpleasant itch crawl along the back of his neck. This wouldn’t have worried him except for, well, the whole back of his fucking neck was encased in metal now and didn’t itch. It was the same feeling he got back in the Glaive when he heard the roar of a dropship in the distance or was about to walk into an ambush by a bunch of cloaked Niff Ghostwalkers.

{Hey, don’t look obvious, but my gut says something’s off,} Gladio transmitted to the group, doing his best to take a casual survey of their surroundings.

{Should we stop or keep walking?} Noct asked.

{Keep going,} Gladio replied, heeding his own advice and continuing on to their next destination, {It might be nothing. Let’s take the scenic route just in case. Follow my lead.}

Gladio took point and meandered through the various aisles, backtracking and changing directions at random intervals. After completing a circuit of the northwest part of the level, Ignis spoke.

{I can confirm we’re being followed. I count at least seven individuals situated at various points around us, including three that rode the elevator up with us,} Ignis said.

{Niffs?} Gladio asked.

{It doesn’t appear that they’re visibly associated with the Empire. The only unifying feature that all of the individuals is a red band somewhere on their person.}

Gladio resisted the urge to grimace. {Motherfuck. Scrappers, probably.}

{What’s the plan?} Noct asked, feigning interest in a nearby jewelry case in front of a vendor’s stall.

{If they really are scrappers, we gotta get back to the Regalia. They’ll have someone casing the ship already,} Gladio explained.

{Agreed. The direct route would be best to avoid giving them an opportunity to cut us off, either from each other or from the elevators,} Ignis said.

{There’s realllllly no good vantage points in here. Stupid low-ish ceilings. We should assume they’ve got more people waiting for us,} Prompto added.

{A safe assumption. Towards the central support shaft, normal pace, nothing out of the ordinary,} Gladio said.

Gladio’s pulse beat hard in his ears, adrenaline scorching a path through his veins with every pump of his heart. He’d worry about the implications of this later, but right now he and the others had to get Noct back to the Regalia safely. Even if the scrappers didn’t know who they were exactly—and Gladio was willing to bet they didn’t—one false move could fuck over their mission before it began.

They were almost at the bottleneck where the bulk of the merchant stalls opened up to the outer aisle when Gladio spotted a row of their pursuers blocking their path. Gladio couldn’t see any weapons on their persons right away, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have them. Shitting Astrals.

{There is a singular alternate route, but I fear it’s also blocked,} Ignis informed, calm and collected as ever.

One of the scrappers, a scrawny skeleton of a man with a rat-like face, jerked a thumb in the direction of the alternate route Ignis had mentioned. {Think we can get out of this by talking?} Gladio asked.

{I rather doubt it, but I suppose the attempt must be made all the same. Noct, can you determine if phasing past them would get you clear?}

{He stays with us, Iggy. Four of us is a hell of a lot better than the risk of sending him on his own,} Gladio said.

“Oi! Our friends are waitin’ for ya,” the same man called again, smiling like he’d just hit the jackpot.

Gladio’d talked with the group about what to do in the event of a threat before they docked at Coernix; they enacted that plan now, falling into a triangular formation with Noct in the centre and Gladio at the apex. There weren’t any recessed stalls in the area the scrapper had gestured to, only a maintenance shaft and a stretch of empty dull grey wall. Four of the group waited for them, and Gladio could hear the ones who headed them off initially follow them over the general din of the level.

Shit, shit and more shit. Before Gladio could say anything, Ignis spoke.

“Allow me to be frank. Whatever you want from us, you won’t obtain. Whatever you think yourselves capable of, you will be sorely disappointed. I’m giving you exactly one chance to step aside and let us proceed with no further obstruction.”

Shitting fuck. Ignis would choose now to go all Ice Prince Scientia on him. Gladio summoned the modules for his shield and Apocalypse from the Armiger, concealing them in his palms with his arms folded against his chest. He watched as Rat Face approached Ignis, puffing out his chest.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do, call security? You’ll be lucky if those lazy fucks get to your corpse while it’s still warm. We’ll be takin’ your fancy ship and a generous credit transfer in return for lettin’ ya limp off with your tails between your legs.”

{Specs…} Noct said through the Armiger, his concern evident.

“Security? Goodness, no. I have no intention of getting Coernix Station personnel involved,” Ignis said, casually, like he was discussing the weather, “I intend to kill you myself.”

The world slowed like a vid put on half speed. Gladio activated his shield module in its six meter form, putting the nanophasic barrier between Noct and the four scrappers in front of him. He barely had time to register Ignis summoning his daggers and burying one gleaming length in Rat Face’s chest with a vicious upward thrust, an arc of bright red blood spraying as he withdrew it with unnatural speed. Before he could thumb the module to deploy Apocalypse, Ignis had vaulted over Gladio’s shield and descended on the waiting scrappers. Gladio heard a rapid series of silenced gunshots from behind him as Prompto discharged whatever firearm he’d brought forth from the Armiger.

Fucking _shit_. So much for talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some ongoing real life shenanigans may mean slower updates for a time, but rest assured that they will be forthcoming. I thank you for reading and for your patience (in advance)!
> 
> Several people have made cool Artificial-verse stuff, which I'm so grateful for and would like to take the opportunity to link below:
> 
> [archadianskies](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com/) made this [amazing Artificial moodboard](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/170609808757/you-were-dead-gladiolus-to)  
> [roadsoftrial](http://roadsoftrial.tumblr.com/) drew this [awesome Artificial!Prompto](https://thelegendarynoctgar.tumblr.com/post/172000041830/soooo-aliatori-gave-me-a-description-of-the)  
> [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula) curated this [fabulous Artificial playlist (Spotify link)](https://open.spotify.com/user/accursedspatula/playlist/6bhieL8DjtFikYbkygseV1?si=on08J2JpQWyMfpc3XkL5bg)
> 
> As always, I am humbled and thankful for the interest that's been shown in this story and universe. Thank you so much again from the bottom of my heart—until next time!


	10. Fissure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and the rest of the team address the developing situation on Coernix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archive warning added for graphic depictions of violence, so please take care!

Combat was always a shitshow, and this fire that Ignis had thrown a fuel cell into was no exception. With Noct wedged between Gladio’s body and massive shield, he turned his attention to assess the current threats on the field.

Ignis was making short work of the four scrappers that had been waiting for them in the empty alley. Rat Face had crumpled to the ground, a bright puddle of blood leaking out from beneath his corpse. Another’s throat gaped in a glistening, red crescent as their body fell from Ignis’s hands. Gladio watched as Ignis threw both daggers with unerring precision at the the third scrapper, one lodged in their neck and one in their chest, sending them staggering back against the wall with a choked off wheeze. He then gripped the greasy haired head of the fourth in his leather-clad hands. Though Gladio had already started to turn in the other direction, he could still hear a nauseating crack over the chaos of the skirmish.

Holy shit. Okay, Ignis had that side of things under control. Time to check on Prompto.

{Y’know, being up close and personal usually isn’t my thing!} Prompto’s voice sounded strained even through the Armiger. He ducked underneath a whirring oscilblade one of the scrappers swung in his direction. As Prompto rose, he fired a polished, chromatic gun he held in his left hand. A barbed projectile shot from it, pierced the scrapper’s flimsy armor, and sent blue-white electricity arcing all over her body; she fell spasming to the ground, the sudden smell of burnt flesh saturating the air.

More scrappers were filling in from the main thoroughfare towards Prompto—how many of these fuckers were there? Gladio glanced at Noct, who had summoned a pale nanocarbonite blade in hand, a pulsating silver core positioned near the hilt. With Ignis having dispatched the four opponents behind them, Gladio switched his shield to its smallest form.

Several of the scrappers surrounded Prompto—though one crumpled with a well-placed titanium slug clean through their forehead—leaving him no space for him to fall back.

Gladio was in the mood to make some fucking room.

He lunged forward with Apocalypse and shield in hand. His blade tore clean through the middle of one scrapper, the two halves of his body falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Enraged, another scrapper screamed and ran full speed at Gladio. He lifted his shield and hit the man backhand with it, packing all the power he could into the swing; there was a juicy crunch as the scrapper’s face _caved_ inward, blood splattering across the transparent panels of Gladio’s shield.

With all the chaos, Gladio barely registered the dull scraping sensation along his back. He looked over his shoulder to find a sallow-faced scrapper trying to wedge a heated brilknife through his spine. An alert flashed once on his visor about danger to his augments before Gladio impaled the woman on Apocalypse. He jerked his sword sideways to dislodge her body from his weapon. The motion sent it slamming into the nearby wall, leaving a broad streak of crimson flecked with bits of viscera as it slid down the grey surface.

{Fuck,} Noct said quietly.

Gladio surveyed their surroundings. There were no living scrappers left to speak of, only mismatched, still corpses in various states of dead. No one had come to investigate the scene yet—that was one good thing about this station being so shitting noisy, he guessed—but Gladio knew it was only a matter of time.

{Let’s move,} Gladio said, waving the team forward with the hand that held his shield. {We gotta get to the elevators before they put them on lockdown.}

{Indeed. Keep your weapons in module form until we’re nearing the hangar. We can’t afford to draw undue attention to ourselves,} Ignis said, a single fleck of blood decorating his sharp cheekbone.

{Little late for that, but okay,} Gladio agreed, only because he thought it likely the rest of the crew waited for them at the ship. He turned his sword and shield back into modules and clipped them his belt before entering the main thoroughfare.

{You okay, buddy?} Prompto asked as they quickly made their way towards the central support shaft of the Rings.

{I’m fine, Prom. Relax,} Noct replied, brushing Prompto’s hand off his shoulder.

{C’mon. If you can walk and you ain’t bleeding, you’re good, at least until we get back to the Regalia. Let’s hustle,} Gladio urged, waving the two of them forward again.

He wasn’t ashamed to do a little pushing and shoving to clear them a path towards the transport elevators. People that went to protest took one look at Gladio and closed their mouths, aside from one disgruntled, muttered swear that was vulgar even by his standards. Security better be as bad as Rat Face had indicated, otherwise they were in a world of trouble trying to get off Coernix.

Ignis slid through a couple of bystanders and changed the destination of one of the elevators from the fourth floor to the first.

“That was my fuckin’ elevator!” a man in a brown overcoat with a roving, metallic eye protested.

“Not anymore,” Ignis said.

“You prick! I oughta—”

Ignis turned to the man and _smiled_ , slinging an arm around his shoulders like they’d been friends for years, but Gladio could see the tightness to Ignis’s grip. He was just able to make out the words that Ignis whispered in the man’s ear by focusing on the sounds.

“I would recommend against further protest unless you wish to enjoy the rest of your life as a quadriplegic.”

For a long, tense moment, Gladio thought they’d have a second situation on their hands, this time with people who hadn’t tried to rob and kill them first. The man’s eye spun wildly in his head as he tried to shove Ignis’s arms away from his neck. 

“Fine, ya slimy son of a bitch. Take the elevator. Can’t even have an honest night out without some whorespawn acting like they own this shithole station.”

Ignis released him and the man stormed off. Probably headed right for a fucking security station with their luck.

{Real subtle. Also, take it easy on the civvies,} Gladio cautioned with a frown.

{I wasn’t going to harm him, but he needed to believe I would.}

Gladio wasn’t sure if he believed Ignis or not, but he was spared from further consideration by the arrival of the elevator. He ushered Noct and Prompto ahead of them into the nondescript interior, Ignis following behind. Gladio mashed the glowing ‘door close’ button, but of course it didn’t fucking work, so they were forced to wait as more civilians filed in. He studied each individual to make sure there were no red bands identifying them as part of the scrapper crew.

The ride down was one of the most torturously slow experiences of Gladio’s life to date, matched only by the glacial passage of hours when he’d been stranded on one of Tenebrae’s moons after a recon mission went tits up.

{You don’t think they’ve actually stolen the ship, do you?} Noct asked, sounding slightly worried.

{The Regalia’s security protocols are the best the Coalition has to offer. There’s absolutely no chance that a ragtag band of scrappers has breached them,} Ignis said. Gladio noted how rigidly he held himself, eyes trained forward, and he suspected his own posture wasn’t far off.

{If anything, they’ll try and stop us from boarding. Be ready for another scrap,} Gladio added.

There was a snick as the elevator locked into place and the soft swoosh of the doors opening. Gladio didn’t have time to deploy his shield before he heard the hum of plasma rifles discharging, pale green beams of light racing towards an elevator full of civilians. Just as they were about to make contact, a transparent hexagonal matrix appeared in the elevator’s entrance. The beams fizzled out as they made contact with its surface.

Gladio whipped around to see Noct holding a hand up. He was breathing hard enough that it was audible through his mask, the matrix’s surface wavering as a barrage of plasma beams pelted the barrier.

{Anytime you wanna get that shield up, big guy,} Noct said.

Gladio surged forward, ignoring the panicked screams of the other passengers. Noct let the matrix dissolve as Gladio activated his shield in its second form, wide enough to cover the elevator and then some.

“Stay back!” Gladio yelled, hoping the civvies would follow instructions.

{There are three individuals on either side of the aisle, all armed with plasma rifles and behind partial cover,} Ignis said.

A child’s sharp, wailing cry pierced the air. {Do you have a clear shot on any of them, Prompto?} Gladio asked, his shield buzzing as it continued to absorb fire from what Gladio assumed were scrappers from the flashes of red he glimpsed.

{That’s a big negative,} Prompto said, holding what looked to be a more compact version of the massive sniper rifle he favoured.

{I’m moving up as far as I can without exposing the elevator entrance. Iggy, you’re gonna need to clear us a path,} Gladio said.

{Understood,} Ignis replied. Gladio watched as he constructed crystalline Armiger daggers and sprang forward from behind the shield, rolling to the side, movements too fast for him or the scrappers to properly track.

The charge on his shield plummeted as Gladio moved up, centimetre by centimetre. They were running out of fucking time.

{I’m going too! Damn it, I can fight!} Noct yelled, blade in hand.

“No!” Gladio growled, but Noct was already moving as he said the word. A few panicked civilians rushed out of the elevator as Noct did.

Noct hurled the blade right as one of the scrappers on the left side popped up from behind a crate. In an all-too-familiar shower of crystalline sparks, Noct vanished and reappeared beside a chunky scrapper with a red bandana tied around his head. The blade had struck the scrapper in the thigh, startling him enough to drop his rifle with a noisy clatter. Noct yanked the blade free from the scrapper’s thigh. The whole weapon, including its swirling core, began to glow bright silver before he thrust it through the scrapper’s chest. As the man crumpled to the ground, Noct raised his hand again, absorbing incoming fire with a copy of the matrix he’d materialized in the elevator. 

Fine. The kid could fight. Didn’t mean Gladio wouldn’t be exchanging some particular fucking words with him later on the importance of following orders.

Ignis had made short work of the scrappers on the right side of the aisle. Gladio heard two shots fire in rapid succession from Prompto’s direction, the remaining hostiles on Noct’s side dropping to the precise headshots.

Gladio switched his shield to its most compressed form and drove forward. Civilians ran around him, choosing a direction at random as they scattered.

It was right about then that klaxons started to bellow out a warning with ear-piercing intensity. Gladio staggered, deafened by the sound until his augments had time to adjust.

“WARNING: SECURITY THREAT DETECTED. STATION LOCKDOWN PROCEDURES IMMINENT. PLEASE MAINTAIN YOUR POSITIONS AND FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS OF COERNIX STATION PERSONNEL. WARNING: SECURITY THREAT DETECTED. STATION LOCKDOWN PROCEDURES IMMINENT...”

{That doesn’t sound good,} Noct said, head whipping around towards Ignis, whose lips were twisted in a grimace.

“Fuck! Run!” Gladio yelled over the noise, forgetting all about the Armiger. He waved his hand above his head and pointed in the direction of the Regalia’s dock.

Warning lights had begun to flash, painting the interior of the Rings red with every blast of the klaxon. Gladio sprinted, thanking all the Astrals that Noct was smart enough utilize his quantum phasing capability to stay close. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Prompto summon a different gun from the Armiger while keeping pace with Gladio; if they weren’t so deep in the fucking shit that they were about to drown in it, he’d appreciate the testament to Prompto’s physical conditioning more.

Ignis ran like he did everything else: with fluid, inhuman speed and grace. Gladio’d seen hints of it before when they’d sparred and during makeshift training exercises aboard the Regalia, but now that Ignis wasn’t holding back, it was on another level entirely.

{Faster would be preferable,} Ignis snapped.

{Shoulda fuckin’ augmented my legs if you wanted me to go any faster,} Gladio shot back. Hey, there was an advantage he hadn’t thought of. The Armiger didn’t take breath to speak, and good thing too, because he sure as hell didn’t have any to spare.

{Uh, guys? I think we have more company,} Prompto said.

{How many of these assholes are there?}

{Not scrappers. Coernix security,} Noct corrected, shooting a glance over his shoulder before phasing next to Gladio again.

{We kill Coernix security, we’ll get ourselves a quadrant bulletin for sure,} Gladio said, arms and legs pumping as they barrelled through a clustered group of civilians.

{Leave it to me,} Prompto said, disappeared from Gladio’s vision. At first, Gladio thought it was because he’d slowed down, but no—he’d literally fucking _shimmered_ and _vanished_.

In the fragmented glimpses he was able to steal over his shoulder, Gladio saw their pursuers begin to drop, one by one, until all ten of them were sprawled along the pitted steel floor of the Rings. He assumed Prompto was firing the gun he’d manifested but he couldn’t hear anything over the klaxons.

{Nighty night, ladies and gents,} Prompto chirped. {Gods, I sure am glad I invested in Sov Drøm before we left Lucis.}

{Now’s not the time, Prompto,} Ignis said over the Armiger. {Don’t get left behind.}

Prompto re-appeared beside Gladio and gave him a thumbs up with his free hand. He wore a huge grin even though his blonde hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat.

{Can’t get rid of me that easy,} Prompto said.

According to the map displayed on Gladio’s visor, they were only three docks away from the Regalia. His heart and legs were both burning from trying to maintain a full sprint. Prompto didn’t look to be faring much better despite his smile, and he was sure Noct’s phase module was stretched to its limit. 

{More security!} Noct called.

{I’ll handle them,} Ignis said, making a hairpin turn faster than Gladio thought possible and racing _towards_ the approaching security instead.

Gladio shoved down an overwhelming urge to stop, to turn back and help Ignis—but he had to stay with Noct. Without Noct, they had nothing, so he kept pushing forward.

The repeating security message changed.

“WARNING: STAND CLEAR OF LOWERING PARTITIONS. WARNING: STAND CLEAR OF LOWERING PARTITIONS. WARNING: STAND CLEAR OF LOWERING PARTITIONS.”

Gladio _did_ stop then. He, Noct and Prompto had just passed one of the aforementioned partitions, which was in the process of lowering to the floor and sealing off the area. Gladio could still see Ignis, a black blur of limbs employed with ruthless precision to disable the security personnel.

{Iggy, forget about them. You gotta move!} Gladio called out. He realized he’d shouted the words aloud along with transmitting them over the Armiger.

Gladio’s gaze locked on Ignis as he started to close the gap between him and the partition. The bulkhead was lowering far more rapidly than its size suggested—it was already halfway to the ground and about to pass the top of Gladio’s head.

Ignis was fast, but he wasn’t that fast. He wasn’t going to make it.

Unless…

Fuck, this was a stupid shitting idea, but what did he have the augments for if he never used them?

Apocalypse and his shield tumbled to the metal floor as he released them from his grasp. Gladio took two large strides and managed to get a solid grip on the bottom of the partition. Before he had a chance to second guess himself, he _pushed_ , pushed like he was trying to score a new personal best on the universe’s most bizzare overhead press—pushed like Ignis’s life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

{Gladio!} Noct called.

The partition came to a halt. The clicking and grinding of the lowering mechanism was loud enough to penetrate the constant roar of alarms. Gladio kept pushing, muscles consumed with agonizing fire and arms already trembling, sweat beading all over his body. He felt the bulkhead slide _up_ a centimetre as he forced it back.

{Ignis, hurry!} Prompto now, hovering by the barrier and his gun held at the ready.

Warnings popped up all over his visor. _Status: yellow. Damage to right deltoid segment imminent. Damage to left deltoid segment imminent. Damage to trapezius segment imminent…_ On and on they scrolled, the red text difficult to read in the wash of Coernix’s alarm lights. He didn’t think they were designed to keep an 11 meter long bulkhead at bay, but fuck, they’d better hold out just a little longer.

Ignis was close enough that Gladio could see his black coat billowing around his thighs, could make out the silver buckles near the tops of his boots.

If his visor had audio capability, Gladio was sure it’d be screaming too. _WARNING—AUGMENT FORCE CAPACITY EXCEEDED—SEVERE DAMAGE IMMINENT._

Not close enough.

{Shit, you need to phase, _now_!} Gladio had no air to speak, his entire body bowed under the strain of propping the bulkhead open.

Wonder of wonders, Ignis listened. As soon as Gladio saw the glowing afterimage of Ignis’s lithe form indicating he’d phased, he pushed backwards from the partition, praying that Ignis had managed to get past it. In the space of a blink, the partition slammed closed, the force of it like an earthquake under Gladio’s feet.

Every limb in his body shook like was coming down from an endurance stim. The shaking intensified with the massive flood of relief that swept through him; Ignis reeled like he was wasted, but at least he was on this side of the partition. Noct offered a shoulder for Ignis to grab onto which he took, leaning hard against Noct’s body and clearly trying to steady himself.

{No time for puking, Iggy,} Gladio said, for once not joking. He managed three steps towards Ignis’s hunched form before his back wrenched in a hard spasm. _Recalibrating_ , his visor told him helpfully. Stupid shitting augments.

{I resent the very suggestion,} Ignis said, but there was no bite to the words.

{Gladio, you okay there?} Prompto hovered near Gladio, one arm extended and his neon lilac eyes wide. Gladio held up a hand.

{I’m fine. Seriously, we gotta fuckin’ move,} Gladio said. One more spasm wrenched his shoulders and travelled down his arms before the recalibration message cleared off his visor. Gladio bent down to grab his weapons off the floor where he’d dropped them and started running again.

They raced towards the Regalia’s dock as a group, darting by the panels that identified each dock—A-11, A-10, A-9—until they finally reached A-7… and found the double doors sealed.

“Oh, _fuck_ this shit,” Gladio growled to no one in particular. He punched the door hard enough to make a deep, fist-shaped dent its surface. Using the crater as a handhold, he pulled as hard as he could, gritting his teeth as he tore the doors open wide enough for them to pass through.

{I probably could have overridden it, but yeah, that works too,} Prompto said.

The gridded lasers of the weapons scanners switched from green to red as they barrelled down the hallway. Sure enough, there were a cluster of scrappers waiting around the Regalia’s entrance, presumably trapped there by the security lockdown.

Bad fuckin’ luck for them.

{Take care not to breach the walls,} Ignis cautioned.

The hallway was too narrow for the mid-size version of Gladio’s shield, but it didn’t matter. He, Ignis and Noct descended on the scrappers in force. Gladio had an instant to wonder where Prompto was when air beside a lanky man shimmered; a red slash opened up across his throat by an unseen knife, blood sluicing down the front of his chest as he crumpled to the ground with liquid gurgle. There were flashes of blue both from Noct as he phased from enemy to enemy and from Ignis as he filled their opponents full of phasic daggers.

Gladio bashed one scrapper against the side of the hallway with his shield—the palpable crunch of bones vibrated through the handle and up his arm. He took out another with a darting slash of Apocalypse, hacking through a woman’s femurs easy as breathing, a spray of blood and a gut-wrenching shriek accompanying the wound.

The nauseating odor of iron and shit lingered heavy and thick in the enclosed space. Gods, Gladio hadn’t missed the smell of battle that involved humans instead of MTs, not one fucking bit.

At least all of their opponents were downed. Ignis was at the Regalia’s control panel, his left hand keying a rapid sequence of commands that would get them inside the ship.

{Sometime today would be good, Specs,} Noct said.

A man twitched and groaned beside Gladio’s right foot. He moved to finish the job with Apocalypse but Prompto, now visible, beat him to it. He shot the man once in the head and twice in the chest with a strangely dispassionate expression. It was gone and replaced with a tiny, nervous grin before Gladio could comment on it.

The doors to the Regalia’s airlock finally slid open. Gladio kept watch while the other three filed onto the ship, only entering once the rest were aboard. A sudden quiet descended on the airlock as the sounds of Coernix’s alarms were dampened by the Regalia’s closing doors.

“See, this is why you manually override detam protocols when you haven’t been offworld,” Gladio said over the hiss of disinfectant filling the room. They were stuck in the airlock until the program ran its course.

{Perhaps I would have, had I not been assured that this would be—and I quote—’an easy in-and-out supply run,’} Ignis said, staring at the doors that led to the Regalia proper with his back to Gladio.

“Shitting Astrals, you couldn’t even wait until we’re clear to say something, could you?” Gladio snapped back, anger flickering to life in his chest.

“Uh, guys, maybe we should focus on getting out of here for now,” Prompto said. 

{I only wished to clarify why we’re being forced to endure a pointless decontamination cycle,} Ignis said.

“I should have fucking left you on the other side of that bulkhead,” Gladio muttered.

“Specs, Gladio, knock it off, both of you! Save the arguing for when we’re far the hell away from here!” Noct yelled. He’d yanked off his mask as soon as they’d gotten in the airlock, which made the magenta glow of his eyes visible in the dim space.

As soon as the detam protocol finished, Gladio moved out of the airlock. Ignis and Noct headed port towards the bridge double time while Prompto went starboard.

{Gonna go to the engine room and give our lovely lady some extra oomph!}

Gladio shook his head as he jogged to the bridge behind the others. He pushed down his frustration as he buckled into his station, tapping his wrist to activate the terminal once the Regalia was powered on.

“Specs, why aren’t we moving?” Noct asked, already strapped in.

{In case you failed to notice, the entirety of Coernix Rings is on lockdown, including the docks. Forgive me if hacking into station security and overriding the directive isn’t an instant process,} Ignis said.

“Can I help?”

{You can help by remaining silent.}

Gladio tried to ignore his own anger as he preloaded a general scan from the weapons terminal. A dialogue box appeared in the lower right corner of the screen to display the results of the scan, but nothing was in it yet. He input a sequence of commands from the main menu to power the Regalia’s weapon on the off chance Coernix security decided to pursue them.

They wouldn’t catch the Regalia, but it might not stop them from trying.

Several terse minutes later, Gladio heard the thump and whirr of the docking couplings releasing from the Regalia’s hull, following by a building whine from the engine.

{Hope you’re strapped to something, Prom, cause I think Specs is taking us out of here at full burn,} Noct said.

{Ohhh yeah, I’m good, buddy. Ready for that sweet, sweet g-force,} Prompto replied.

Gladio could have sworn his ass lifted out of his chair despite the artificial grav with how quickly the Regalia accelerated. Despite his stomach doing several backflips inside his gut, he kept his eyes glued to the scan, waiting for pursuers to show up on the screen.

The patrol never came. There was only the rapid blur of stars through the viewpane and utter silence on the bridge as they left Coernix Rings behind.

* * *

One hour, eighteen minutes, and a brief clean up session later, Ignis finally spoke.

{Noctis, you should rest. Gladio and I will handle the first shift.}

Gladio thought the words were deceptively calm for how much of an asshole Ignis had been the entire time they’d been on Coernix. He had a sneaking suspicion that a dressing down was coming, but fuck it, Gladio had a few choice words of his own for Ignis.

Noct’s dark brows creased into a tiny furrow as he rose from his seat. “Sure. I’ll go check on Prom and get a real shower.” Halfway to the exit of the bridge, he turned back towards Gladio. “Feel free to ignore him if he gets too lecture-y. That’s what I do.”

“We’ll be having a nice little debriefing later, and trust me, Ignis ain’t the only one who can give a mean lecture,” Gladio said.

“Can’t wait,” Noct drawled as he left the bridge.

Ignis hooked his legs over the pilot’s chair and stood in one graceful motion. His tinted visor rested on a side table attached to his station, right next to that stupid fucking coffee mug, leaving his bright green eyes exposed. Eyes that were studying Gladio with startling intensity.

“Whatever you have to say,” Gladio started, rising from his own seat, “Go ahead and say it. Better to have it out now than to let it sit.”

{There are two things. First, I’d like to point out that I was entirely correct about what would happen if we stopped at Coernix.}

“Out loud, Iggy. I’m not doing the Armiger bullshit right now.”

“As you wish,” Ignis said in a tone that indicated the exact opposite.

Gladio ignored the sarcasm and continued. “Last I checked, you didn’t fucking predict that _scrappers_ would be the ones to chase us halfway ‘round the damn Rings. But sure, Ignis, if you wanna hear that you were right, here it is: _you were right_ ,” Gladio said. He’d been trying so goddamn hard to keep his temper in check, but it slipped through the fissures in his composure, honing the edges of the last three words to a sharpness worthy of Ignis himself.

“While I didn’t mention scrappers specifically, I did point out the likelihood of encountering persons of their ilk. We very nearly didn’t make it off the station,” Ignis replied, taking a few steps closer to Gladio, his features smooth. 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one who stabbed one of them in the fucking heart to set it all off, so you can pat yourself on the back for that part,” Gladio said. He sighed and ran a hand across the soft growth of his hair. “We can argue about this as a team during the debriefing. Builds character and shit. Just tell me the second thing and we can go back to uncomfortable ass silence.”

“You took an unnecessary risk by holding the partition open. While I can repair slight damage to your augments, lack of both knowledge and materials would prevent the completion of more significant repairs,” Ignis said.

“Are you serious?” Gladio asked, lifting his hands and shoulders in unison as he stared at Ignis.

“Yes, Gladio, I am,” Ignis snapped, taking a step closer. “We had access to a full map of Coernix Rings that included maintenance passages and ventilation routes. I’m certain I would have found a way around the security partition.”

Anger ignited deep in Gladio’s chest. Its heat was familiar: an old, shitty friend that he’d mostly managed to cut ties with but still commed once in a while, just in case. Ignis’s carefully blank expression only pissed him off more. For someone who came running to him in the middle of the fucking night because he’d had a bad dream, he was sure quick with his dismissal of… well, everything Gladio stood for.

He didn’t leave teammates behind, not if he could help it, even one as self righteous and arrogant as Ignis.

“You’re being a dick, you know? Maybe people don’t tell you that back on the Citadel because they’re scared shitless by you, but I ain’t! Hell, I’m _glad_ things went down the way they did, ‘cause at least now I have a better fuckin’ idea what I’m working with!” Gladio yelled. His voice seemed louder in the confines of the bridge, echoing through the space like a thunderclap.

Ignis blinked at him once, twice, his head tilted a fraction to one side. “I expected better results than what we saw on Coernix, Gladio. Perhaps your reputation is unfounded.” 

Gladio began counting backwards from ten in his head in an attempt to quell his anger. Once he hit six, he knew there was no way a ten-count would be long enough, so he restarted the countdown from thirty. He made it to seventeen before he leaned down, pausing half a metre away from Ignis’s face.

“What the _fuck_ makes you think you have any right to judge my reputation? It must have been _real_ easy sitting there at your fancy desk, reading my service history while flesh and blood Lucians were dying on distant stars.”

That struck a nerve. Gladio saw it in the sudden crimp of Ignis’s eyebrows. A pink flush suffused his cheeks and his green eyes narrowed. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Because you won’t fucking _tell_ me!” Gladio exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know who—or what—you are, and it certainly ain’t for lack of trying!”

“You’re simply incapable of accepting that I’ve thought out every choice I make at excruciating length, aren’t you? You imply that I’m arrogant, yet you’re the one who refuses to believe me the minute I deny or challenge you,” Ignis said, lips pursed.

“At least you get to make your own choices! Fuck, you get to make them for _everyone_ , including the one where you decided not to just _leave me fucking dead!_ ” Gladio bellowed.

Ignis fell quiet at that. His chest heaved as he glared at Gladio; Gladio glared right back. In that moment, he wanted to punch Ignis almost as much as he’d wanted to enact all the dirty fantasies he imagined late at night. He would never go as far as hitting him—not like he’d be able to land one anyway—but his anger had built to a steady, roiling boil.

“This conversation is over,” Ignis said, words so crisp they may as well have been chipped from ice, turning his back on Gladio and going back to the pilot’s chair.

“I was thinking the same fucking thing.”

Gladio stomped over to his station and sat in the chair, legs spread so that his thighs rested on either side of the seat. He stared at the rusty stains under his fingernails that he hadn’t been able to scrub clean.

Letting go of his anger would have been the smart thing to do, especially since he was stuck on the bridge with Ignis for the next several hours. But the anger burned away the darker thoughts he knew were on the horizon, so he kept thinking of Ignis instead, letting his rage immolate him in silence from the inside out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever wonderful [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylianna). All remaining mistakes are mine. Special thanks to [roadsoftrial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial) and [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula) for their support and sounding board capacities.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. <3 Comments are treasured beyond words if you feel up to leaving one. See you next update!


	11. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Ignis deal with the aftermath of Coernix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever wonderful [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylianna). All remaining mistakes are mine. Special thanks to [roadsoftrial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial) and [UnsteadyGenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnsteadyGenius/pseuds/UnsteadyGenius) for the baby sparkle slaps re: this update.

Gladio was _not_ avoiding the crew.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He just needed some fucking peace and quiet. He’d managed to spend an hour in the training room before Prompto had barged in, mouth moving at light speed, covering a range of topics from the latest update to the VR game he and Noct played off-shift to what the optimal artificial grav coefficient was for his workout. Gladio endured twenty minutes before making some excuse about wanting to prep his armor—which was true—and leaving Prompto to his workout.

The armory aboard the Regalia wasn’t much more than a glorified storage closet. All that occupied the space was a mid-size worktable lined with basic repair supplies, a rectangular flat screen mounted above the table for displaying specs, and six matching cylindrical lockers to stash whatever gear wasn’t in the Armiger. Each one had a tiny backlit label at the bottom with the the appropriate name in glowing, neon Lucian script.

Gladio went to his own locker and got as far as having a finger hovering over the button to open it when he paused. Ignis’s locker was right next to his, and unlike all the shit on the bridge and their quarters, these weren’t ident secured. Which meant he could open it. Which meant maybe he could get an answer, or a hint, or a clue, or a fucking _something_ about who—or what—Ignis was; he wasn’t ruling out any possibilities at this point. Gladio wasn’t usually the type to mess with people’s shit, but the past three days had been… challenging.

No, Gladio thought, he should call it like it is. They’d been fucking awful.

It wasn’t like his own hands were clean in all of this. After Coernix, they’d _both_ gone critical mass on the bridge, but Gladio wasn’t exactly in the mood to go grovelling to Ignis and apologize first. Two could play at Ignis’s game of perfect civility. He didn’t rise through the ranks of the Coalition’s military without knowing how to look assholes in the face and go through the motions. Though apparently Ignis didn’t think he deserved his rank or title, so there was that. _Shitting Astrals_. 

“‘Perhaps your reputation is unfounded’ my ass,” Gladio muttered. He scooted over to Ignis’s locker and pressed the switch to open it.

As the locker doors retracted, Gladio sighed. He didn’t know why he thought Ignis would be careless enough to leave anything personal laying around. A few pistols were secured on one side of the locker—Gladio recognized them as Reaper models, designed to fire five or six concentrated plasma shots before needing to recharge—and a fully stocked shelf of field medicine supplies rested on the other side. Gladio’s eyes roved over the collection of plastid, multicoloured vials, injectors, stims, and the all-purpose sealant/coagulant he knew as ‘sludge’ before settling on the armor.

The design of the armor wasn’t anything cutting edge as far as Gladio could tell. The slate-grey protective plating was much thinner than that of Gladio’s own armor, the joints connected by reinforced webbing, which made sense given what little Gladio had seen of Ignis’s combat abilities. Speed mattered more than durability when you could kill someone from 20 metres away with phasic weapons. A bright silver column of reinforced metal joints extended up the back of the armor, following the path where Ignis’s spine would be, presumably for extra protection.

Next to the armor was a baggy exo-suit for exterior ship repairs or situations where they might need to enter into an unfamiliar atmosphere. Bulky, ugly as sin, but very Lucian and very effective; the Niffs had little shitting devices they slapped on their chest that constructed some kind of phasic barrier with life support, but in true Lucian fashion, the Coalition was too busy clinging to the remains of their territory to R&D it.

Too busy resurrecting people and turning them half machine and telling them to save the goddamn universe.

Bitterness and anger slopped around in Gladio’s stomach like one of the vile medicinal cocktails he’d been forced to drink during his recovery. He’d only ever tried to do the right thing—following his father’s footsteps and enlisting, saving his unit from the Widowmaker, holding the partition for Ignis—and all it had gotten him was shit and more shitting shit. Yeah, he’d been an asshole to Ignis, shoving the fact that he wished he’d never been brought back in his face…

But did it make him a little less of an asshole if it were true? 

Whatever. What did Ignis care, and what choice did Gladio have? He was here now and he’d do his fucking job. Gladio heaved a sigh and pawed at the armor, peeking behind it, searching for anything else of interest in Ignis’s locker. There wasn’t so much as a single mote of dust in the interior. Pristine, sterile, organized—just like fucking Ignis.

He closed Ignis’s locker and went to his own.

As soon as he opened the doors, Gladio’s gaze fell on the two pictures hanging beside one another; a matching set hung on the wall above his bunk back in his quarters. He’d splurged some of the Coalition’s stipend to have real, glossy, tactile photographs printed before he deployed.

One was a family photo from a couple years back when he was on leave. Him, his dad, and Iris stood in front of their estate on the outskirts of Insomnia. Iris beamed at the camera with a toothy grin while Gladio and Clarus both had more reserved smiles, smiles at odds with the full Coalition uniforms they both wore. It was a nice picture, one of the most recent Gladio had of his father and sister, and the tension in his chest eased a little as he remembered the day.

The other one was a group photo featuring Gladio, Nyx, Crowe, and Lib. Livia had taken the picture, Gladio recalled, laughing behind her comm in the middle of some dive bar in the Galahdian sector of Insomnia. Gladio and Crowe were perched on barstools trying to drink each other under the table that night—for all the kilos and centimeters Gladio had on her, Crowe could hold her fucking liquor—and the picture was taken halfway through a floating rack of shots they’d downed, one after the other. Lib was clutching his belly and laughing on one side of the frame. Nyx took up almost the entire bottom left corner of the picture, only his head and shoulders visible, giving the camera a thumbs up and wearing his traditional shit-eating grin.

Gladio chuckled and gave his head a little, rueful shake. He hadn’t heard from Nyx since the last time they spoke on the QCN; Gladio made a mental note to ask Prompto if he’d followed through on his promise (threat?) to talk to Nyx and turned his attention to his armor.

{Hey, Gladio? Specs and I were talking and thought it’d be a good time to hold that team meeting you mentioned,} Noct said.

Gladio clenched his teeth and set one of the larger chest pieces of his armor on the worktable. He pulled up the appropriate Armiger trigger in order to respond to Noct. {Sorry, can it wait? I’m in the middle of something.}

{I mean, we only have a couple standard hours until we’re gonna be crossing through an asteroid belt, which means I’ll be glued to the bridge. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow if we don’t do it now,} Noct offered.

{Is this an order?}

A few moments passed with no response from Noct. Gladio knew he’d have to be a hardass at this meeting—and try to get Ignis to come clean about his combat capabilities—and wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

{No,} Noct finally said, {it’s not an order.}

{Then I’ll see you later,} Gladio replied. He muted Noct, Prompto and Ignis on the Armiger, locked the door from the inside, and returned to the worktable, determined to crawl his way through the maintenance with no more interruptions.

* * *

Clearly Gladio was out of practice, because the optimization checklist took far longer than he’d realized to complete, even accounting for a few breaks throughout the process. When he thought to check his comm, hours had passed; it had been around 19:00 when he’d started and the clock on his comm now read 23:06. No one had come knocking on the armory doors so Gladio assumed there were no crises to attend to.

He stored his armor and headed out of the armory and towards the personnel quarters. Automatic lights flickered to life in the medbay as he passed, sending an eerie shiver down his spine. No sign of any other crew members, either, which made for a quiet walk.

Given the hour, Gladio knew he should try to sleep for his shift in the ‘morning,’ but he wasn’t tired, so his next best plan was to grab a book and hope reading would wind him down. He entered his quarters with a tap of his wrist and headed straight for the bookshelf. A copy of _Lucis Redux: History of the Coalition_ rested on the top of it, a single corner of one page dog-eared where he’d left off.

He could almost hear Iris’s voice in his head— _Gladdy, those are expensive, you really shouldn’t ruin the pages like that!_ —as he picked up the book, chuckling to himself. He hadn’t ripped any pages out on accident, which he considered a point in his favour regarding the control of his augments.

Funnily enough, as fucking pissed as Ignis had been about him holding the partition open, Gladio felt like he had a better handle on his strength because of it. Not that he’d tell Ignis that. Iggy. Whatever he called him these days.

Fuck.

Gladio didn’t want to stay cooped up in his (fancy, state of the art, probably Ignis-designed) quarters. He grabbed his book, tucked it under his arm, and headed out of his room and towards the common area. As his gaze swept the room, he dismissed the notion of reading there—too open and too much of a chance of being interrupted. That left the cargo bay or the observation lounge on the Regalia’s port side.

They should still be traversing through the shitting asteroid field, which as inconvenient as it was for Noct would make a killer view for Gladio. He made his way down the appropriate corridor until he reached the entry. Depressing the button on the right hand side of the entrance caused the panel to flash green and the doors to open with a soft, mechanical whir.

Gladio hadn’t at all considered that the room might be occupied—but it was.

He had a handful of seconds to take in the sight of Ignis, seated at the oblong table that dominated the centre of the space. There was some kind of personal comp station active with what appeared to be a holographic map of Starsystem Eos floating above the table, but more than that…

Ignis actually looked _tired_. In the instant before he registered Gladio’s presence, his head was bowed and rested in both hands, his gloved fingers were laced through his ash-blonde hair, and his visor rested dangerously low on his nose. As soon as he noticed Gladio, he straightened into his usual proper posture, adjusting his visor and brushing his hair back into some semblance of order. That stupid fucking coffee mug rested next to Ignis’s left hand, accompanied by a smattering of comms and tablets spread out on the dimly backlit surface of the table. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be in here. I’ll find somewhere else to read,” Gladio said. He turned on one booted heel and went to open the doors once more.

“No, Gladio, wait,” Ignis said with a strange, quiet urgency. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like. My work shouldn’t disturb your reading.” 

Gladio paused and faced towards Ignis again. “You sure? I ain’t trying to interrupt.”

“I’m positive,” Ignis agreed, back to his usual clipped tone. After a moment, he continued, “Truth be told, I could use the company, otherwise I might vex myself to utter madness trying to finish these predictions.”

What was Ignis fucking playing at? He hadn’t so much as strung a complete sentence together in Gladio’s direction since Coernix. Wary—and resolved to try and not have this conversation go the way of a fission reaction—he nodded at Ignis.

“Sure.” Gladio took a few steps towards the side of the table closest to him. He chose a seat opposite Ignis and set the book down on the glowing surface.

Ignis hooked two fingers in his mug and stood. “I believe more coffee is in order first. Would you care for some?”

The question caught Gladio off guard. Something in Ignis’s tone reminded him of his stint in the med facility, of Ignis’s attentiveness, of daily check ins and instant noodles and bare hands framing his face as he was connected to the Armiger. Was that the Ignis he was dealing with tonight, or was it the one who thought he didn’t deserve his command? 

“If you’re offering to share your stash, I ain’t gonna say no,” Gladio said. He didn’t care for the stuff overmuch, but if this was some kind of peace offering, he was going to take it.

“Certainly. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Ignis swept out of the room with his ever-present grace, leaving Gladio alone in the observation lounge. His eyes drifted first to his book, but he didn’t think he’d have the focus to read, not while navigating the minefield that was interaction with Ignis. Gladio instead turned his attention to the large, transparent viewpane that dominated one wall of the room.

He could miss home as much as the next person, and it hadn’t all been amazing vistas from a luxury spaceship, but Gladio didn’t think he’d ever get tired of space. He felt his lips curl into a smile of their own accord as he soaked in the view from the lounge. They weren’t near any planets or moons on this course, but stars were visible in the distance, light years away but seeming close enough to touch. One in particular emitted a bright blue-white light, outshining all the other nearby stars. A few pitted asteroids drifted harmlessly by the viewpane. Reality trickled through Gladio’s awe as he wondered—hoped—that Prompto had the shields activated. He dismissed the worry as an asteroid bounced off the Regalia’s shields in a prismatic flash.

“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?”

Ignis’s question made Gladio jump a little in his chair, the true sign he’d gotten lost in thought. He hadn’t registered the sounds of Ignis re-entering the room.

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed.

Ignis took up his prior seat and extended a mug to Gladio, handle first. Gladio accepted it and placed it on the table next to his book. The coffee was hot enough that tiny plumes of steam drifted up from the mug, so he’d wait a bit before forcing it down.

They sat in uncomfortable silence. Predictably, Gladio couldn’t help but steal a few glances at Ignis. It was the middle of the fucking night—according to the made up timetables they maintained for their sanity—and Ignis was still in his shitting suit. Gladio had to admit that, aside from the tension thick as congealed blood lingering in the air, Ignis cut a nice figure tonight: hair falling across his forehead, lips pursed in thought, a gloved hand curled under his chin, and a backdrop of stars and asteroids behind him through the observation lounge’s viewpane. 

Ignis’s next words hit Gladio like a punch to the gut.

“Gladio, about Coernix…”

Ah, shit. The absolute last thing Gladio wanted to talk about.

“Look, Iggy, don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” Gladio said, waving a hand in the air. He frowned and spun his coffee mug around in a slow circle on the table, careful not to spill its contents. When he lifted his eyes, he found Ignis staring back at him, visor resting beside his left hand and a searching look in his green eyes. For once they were devoid of whatever data and information that could normally be found scrolling across the internal HUD.

“I didn’t comport myself with any sort of dignity befitting—” Ignis started.

Gladio cut him off. “Hey, I said we’re good. Tension was high, adrenaline was pumping, and we were all on edge. We both said shit we didn’t mean.” What Ignis had said had cut deep, but Gladio was pretty sure he’d given as good as he got, and neither of them had the time to unpack all that bullshit with Accordo looming in the distance.

Ignis visibly relaxed a fraction. Gladio could see it in the way his shoulders dropped, heard it in the quiet but audible exhale. “In that case,” Ignis said, gesturing to the holographic star chart hovering between them, “might I solicit your opinion on my latest predictive model of the Imperial fleet’s course?”

Yeah, this was more stable ground for Gladio, better than muddling through whatever apologies he and Ignis could scrape together. He took as long a swig of coffee as he could stand before he spoke. “Hit me.”

As Gladio watched, Ignis lifted two gloved hands and… oh, it wasn’t a hologram, it was some sort of phasic projection that could be physically manipulated. That was fucking convenient. The map expanded as Ignis gripped the edges and pulled his hands apart, zooming in on a section near the first hyperspace gate they’d used.

“According to what limited information we’ve received, I was about to triangulate the fleet’s location. General Nox Fleuret is about to pass through Mateus Gate, which means my initial calculations about the fleet’s speed were incorrect,” Ignis explained, pointing out the cluster of ships that represented the Imperial forces.

“Huh,” Gladio said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Your math wouldn’t have been off—at least, I don’t think it would—so why the change in pace?”

“The fleet seems to be smaller than we originally anticipated, which affords them faster movement. I suppose this qualifies as good news in a limited sense. However, it’s still highly unlikely that we’d survive a direction confrontation with the Nox Fleuret forces, even accounting for the reduced size.”

Gladio furrowed his brow. “How fast are we talkin’ here? They gonna catch up to us before we hit Altissia?”

Ignis grimaced. “On our current course… yes. I’ve been running different simulations by plugging in the known variables and most options end with us being overtaken.”

“Did stopping for supplies set us back too far?” Gladio asked, his chest tightening in anticipation.

“No. It appears as though we’d be in this position regardless of whether or not we’d stopped, for what it’s worth.”

Thank fuck for that. Gladio kept thinking out loud. “Can we push the Regalia harder? I don’t know her specs like Prompto does, but I do know we haven’t been maxing her out.”

“Fuel economy would become a concern,” Ignis replied. He drew his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it as he stared at the projection, glowing information filtering across the internal HUDs of his eyes, and Gladio shoved his surging hormones aside to focus.

Shit. Gladio didn’t want to say it, but he’d kick himself in the ass if he didn’t bring it up. “Ignoring the rest of the clusterfuck that was Coernix, we did grab extra fuel cells beyond what was accounted for initially. Think those would give us enough of a boost to stay ahead of the goddamn Niffs?”

Ignis’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Astrals. I forgot to log those in the Regalia’s inventory after we were clear. That absolutely changes the simulation…”

There was a flurry of movement as Ignis adjusted the starsystem map in front of him. Gladio assumed it was connected to Ignis’s neurolink; he couldn’t see any physical inputs being made, but the simulation rapidly cycled through a variety of scenarios, too fast for Gladio to get the scope of. Since Ignis had fallen silent and Gladio couldn’t parse the changes on the map… he looked at Ignis.

Intense might as well have been Ignis’s middle name—Gladio spared a fleeting thought to wonder if he _had_ a middle name—and he demonstrated that in full force as he studied the map. Ignis was stupidly good looking at his worst, but here in his element, features honed to sharpness by his laser focus… Gladio felt as though the air in the lounge had gotten thinner. Each breath he took in didn’t seem to get enough oxygen where it needed to be. 

Shitting Astrals. Everything would be a lot easier if Ignis didn’t have this fucking hold over him. No, Gladio thought, that wasn’t it, not really. This always happened when he thought about Ignis for more than three consecutive seconds. The guy was attractive, deadly, capable, brilliant, and _could_ be kind—which would be great if he wasn’t also a secretive, calculating asshole with walls thicker than Gralea’s.

But here, alone with Ignis, watching him work as though in a trance, his expression completely unguarded… all the complication crumbled to pieces and left only _want_ in the rubble. There was no point in denying that his desire for Ignis, though it might wax and wane, was a constant companion, one he was always fighting. He’d thought a lot about what Ignis had said—not what he’d said on Coernix, but before. _I find myself drawn to you again and again._

Gladio was on the same ship, literally and figuratively, and he didn’t know how long he had the strength to keep fighting.

The sound of snapping fingers coaxed Gladio out of his own head. {That’s it!} Whether he realized it or not, Ignis had switched to the Armiger.

“You figure something out, Iggy?”

A relieved smile spread across Ignis’s face. {Yes! We need only marginally increase our acceleration and utilize Adrammelech Gate to stay well ahead of the pursuing Imperial fleet. The course correction will require minimal backtracking as well, which is beneficial.}

“Finally a bit of good news,” Gladio said. He was trying, he really was, but he couldn’t stop the next words from leaving his mouth. “Thank fuck we were able to get those fuel cells.”

Ignis’s smile flickered before guttering out entirely. He did manage to look a least a bit chagrined instead of pissed, which was an emotion Gladio never thought he’d see from him. {I suppose I deserve as much and more, should you feel so inclined.}

Had this revelation come closer on the heels of Coernix, he might have dug in a little harder. “Nah. It’s no fun when you ask for it,” Gladio said with the ghost of a grin, then added as an afterthought, “but maybe it’s a _little_ fun.”

Ignis gave a (in Gladio’s opinion) fake cough into one gloved fist before making a few more adjustments to the map, head tilted to one side. {It would behoove us to monitor the situation closely, of course. I detest feeling so blind this far away from Insomnia. Most of my usual networks are inaccessible, and Intelligence can’t risk sending us reports at anything close to the frequency that I’d prefer.}

He wasn’t a high ranking Intelligence operative, but he wasn’t a slouch, and Gladio saw an opening that he had to take. “Huh,” Gladio started, grin broadening, “it must be pretty frustrating not to know as much as you want about something. Like fleets. Or a person.”

There it was, the precision eyebrow raise Gladio had come to know and love. {I’m safe to assume you’re referring to me and not the fleet.}

Gladio chose not to respond with words. He rose from his chair and stood in front of the viewpane, arms crossed over his chest, and began whistling an innocent tune. Safer to keep eyes on the vast expanse of space rather than Ignis’s reaction to that jab.

{Were we sparring, I suspect I’d have conceded two points to you thus far.}

Not as bad as Gladio thought, then. He shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t trying to fight. Just pointing out a relevant piece of information. Thought that’d be more up your alley.”

The only signs that Ignis had moved from his seat were the rustle of fabric sliding against itself and the click of his shoes along the floor. Gladio shifted to find Ignis standing next to him, brow furrowed in thought, his visor still resting on the table.

{A wise Lieutenant once referred to the dual nature of his squad as ‘the knife in the dark and the light in the darkness.’}

Gladio found himself transmitting over the Armiger by force of habit. He met Ignis’s eyes as he responded. {If you’re tryin’ to get back in my good graces, quoting my lines back to me is a risky move.}

A grin twitched across Ignis’s lips. {Your squad seemed quite fond of the adage.} He paused, a flicker of _something_ crossing his features before vanishing. {I’ve spent most of my life being the knife in the dark, Gladiolus, and I’m well aware it can make me… difficult to deal with.}

It was as close as Gladio was getting to an apology, which suited him fine. He huffed out a short laugh. {I figured that for myself when you stabbed a guy in the fucking heart without a second thought. You don’t get the balls _or_ guts to pull that off without some practice.}

{Indeed.}

{I’ve gotta say that in the future, Iggy, I’d appreciate it if we didn’t jump to murder as our first plan of attack.}

{Duly noted.}

{It would also be nice if I knew what the hell you were capable of. Might help the whole teamwork bit,} Gladio added hopefully.

Ignis’s sharp green gaze went calculating as he studied Gladio, his lips pursed in thought. Ignis unfastened the strap of one black glove, then the other, pulling them off in turn and placing them in an inner jacket pocket. The soft glow raced along the pathways on the backs of his hands as he nestled the gloves in the inner pocket of his jacket. Gladio guessed he was formulating some witty or sarcastic response.

He was wrong.

{I have what are colloquially known as reflex augmentations. Those in conjunction with another procedure are what allow me to evade incoming attacks and move faster than unaugmented humans. At the time I underwent the augmentation surgery, they hadn’t yet developed the diagnostic program that you use for _your_ augments, so the lights are a way for me to see if a connection is damaged or functioning at reduced capacity,} Ignis said, lifting a hand in front of Gladio and giving a wave of his fingers. 

Holy shit. Gladio could hardly believe he was actually getting some kind of answers from Ignis. He realized he was holding his breath and exhaled, slow and careful, before responding.

{That mean you glow all over?} Gladio asked. Shit. That was flirting.

{Wouldn’t you like to know?} Ignis’s reply was immediate and accompanied with a smug grin.

Yeah. Yeah, with Ignis standing close enough to smell the fresh, subtle aroma of his cologne, and finally making some headway on getting to know the guy… he really would. He’d settle for more information if he could get it. 

{What about when I grabbed you? You said you weren’t hurt, but…}

{A similar bone augmentation to yours was performed at the same time as the reflex augmentations—nanocarbonite mesh applied reinforce the entire skeletal structure. You already know about the neurolink, internal HUD, and my prowess with the Armiger network.}

Gladio gave a low whistle. {You didn’t die on the Coalition too, did you?}

{No, nothing quite so dramatic,} Ignis replied. A miniscule, wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

A conclusion slid into place like the last command in a firing sequence. {So you’re a cyborg too. Technically. Whatever it’s worth.}

{Yes,} Ignis confirmed. {Not that I ever use it, but the lifeform designation on all of my official, legal Coalition identification reads as cyborg.} 

{Like me,} Gladio said. He couldn’t be sure how Ignis heard it in _his_ head, but the thought crossed Gladio’s mind like a whisper, secret and soft. 

{No one is quite like you or me, Gladiolus, but yes.}

The self-assured way that Ignis ‘spoke’ the words made Gladio’s pulse beat in triple time. If he were wearing his stupid shitting visor, he suspected it might have flashed a warning about the rapid spike in his heartbeat, but it was just him and his insulated synthskin jumpsuit—a jumpsuit that showed more than it covered, now that Gladio took a second to think about it. 

He tried to keep his response casual. {Now there’s something we can agree on,} Gladio said, tacking on a chuckle at the end that was only a little forced. The tension in the air was twisting, transmuting into a different kind of energy altogether, an energy that fed upon itself the longer Ignis had his eyes honed in on Gladio.

He should really fucking go while the getting was good.

“Maybe I’ll try and get some sleep. Long shift ahead,” Gladio said. Fuck, why did it feel so much harder to say the words out loud than think them straight into Ignis’s head?

Ignis nodded, features settled into blank neutrality, then spoke. {Before you go… there’s an item that’s been on my mind since Coernix that I’d appreciate clarification on.} 

Alarm blared through Gladio like a klaxon. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking himself into a trap, but he couldn’t find the willpower to brush Ignis off.

“Yeah?” 

{Did I make a mistake?} Ignis asked. His face pinched together almost like he was in pain as he pinned Gladio with that familiar, searching gaze. For once, he was the first to break eye contact, his eyes fixed firmly on some unseen point beyond the viewpane.

Gladio’s stomach lurched up into his throat. He chose his next words with utmost care. “I haven’t known you for all that long in the grand scheme of things, but it doesn’t seem likely,” Gladio offered. “You askin’ about something specific?”

{About you. About supporting your nomination for…} Ignis paused, {for reconstruction.}

Well, shit. That was the million credit question, wasn’t it?

A thousand and one simultaneous responses sprang to life. Yes. No. Maybe. Gladio was still undecided on that point. On one hand, he’d spent a lot of time dwelling on how shitting impossible this whole venture was, on how uncomfortable he was in a body as much tech as flesh that wasn’t the one he was born with, and on the internal debate about whether or not it was more fucked up to die or to know you were probably _going_ to die.

On the other hand…

Ignis filled the silence while studiously avoiding Gladio’s gaze. {I was so certain back on Lucis that I’d made the correct decision. Our discussion after Coernix made me consider the situation in a new light. If...} Ignis paused and gave a quiet sigh, {If my advocacy for the project’s completion was a mistake, it’s my responsibility to help you bear that burden as best I’m able.}

On the other hand, he never would have had the chance to say proper goodbyes without being brought back to life. He wouldn’t have gotten to speak with his family or his old unit. He would be nothing more than a hundred lines of code in the Graveyard, forgotten by all but a few.

He never would have crossed paths with Ignis, and as fucking frustrating as it was to try and breach his walls of secrecy, that seemed almost the worst loss of all.

“Iggy. Look at me?”

Ignis turned to face Gladio. He could practically see Ignis building up his defenses again, repairing the damage to his composure, and deciding that Gladio’d had enough honesty for one day, thank you very much. At the same time, there was a glimmer too much like hope in his eyes for Gladio to ignore.

Shitting Astrals.

They’d been less than an arm’s length apart ever since Ignis had joined him by the viewpane. It was an easy distance for Gladio to cross in a step, winding one arm around Ignis’s waist and cupping the side of his face with the other. He gave Ignis a few seconds to pull away, to change his mind, to use his stupid fucking augmented speed to extricate his body from Gladio’s. He didn’t do any of that—he just looked up at Gladio, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, hands at his sides like he couldn’t quite process what was happening.

Gladio bent down and gently pressed his lips to Ignis’s.

It was like having his augments activated all over again. Every nerve in his body became a live wire, electric shocks rippling through him in time with his pulse. He’d half expected to find Ignis cold and unresponsive, but his lips were pleasantly warm against Gladio’s. True to form, it didn’t take Ignis long to recover, and soon his hands were gliding up Gladio’s chest to encircle his neck. His whole body melded against Gladio’s in a single line of molten heat, no less enjoyable for all the sharp angles and firm muscle Gladio could feel underneath the suit.

“That enough of an answer for you?” Gladio asked when he broke away. He needed a breath, a gulp of oxygen to ease the budding burn in his lungs, then he kissed Ignis again.

{Yes. _Gods_ , yes,} Ignis said. He slid his hands to Gladio’s shoulders and rotated the two of them, urging Gladio towards the viewpane until his back was flush against the glass, their mouths locked together the entire time. Once they stopped moving, Ignis pressed his tongue against Gladio’s lips, gentle but insistent, and Gladio yielded to him as willingly as he’d ever done anything in his whole fucking life. {I’ve wanted you for so long.}

The combined sensation of Ignis’s voice in his head and his tongue in his mouth dizzied Gladio. He groaned into the kiss, short and strained, and moved his hands to the small of Ignis’s back, pulling him as close as he could. The taste of him was better than every fantasy Gladio’d conjured, wet heat with the barest hint of coffee, distinctly _human_ and intoxicating.

{The feeling’s mutual,} Gladio managed. Fuck, he was more than half hard already, and the friction of Ignis’s thigh wedged between his legs certainly wasn’t helping. Or maybe it was helping, depending on how he viewed it.

{You should mute Noctis and Prompto,} Ignis murmured. As he broke the kiss, he met Gladio’s eyes for a moment, and the naked desire Gladio found in his gaze was enough to make his cock jump.

{You ever stop thinking one step ahead?} Gladio asked. He gathered his wits and went through the necessary mental commands in the Armiger to do so, a task made more difficult by the fact that Ignis was slowly unzipping his jumpsuit, stopping when he reached the end point just above Gladio’s navel.

{Never,} Ignis said. He ran his fingers across Gladio’s chest, through the patch of dark hair along his pecs he’d never bothered to get rid of, and followed the path it made right down to his belly. Ignis’s caress left the sensation of fire in its wake, his skin soft but his touch firm. Ignis leaned down and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Gladio’s throat as his hand kept moving down his body.

Gladio tipped Ignis’s chin up and kissed him again, deep and desperate, an electric thrill sparking up his spine as their tongues met again. When Ignis’s hand found his cock and cupped it through the synthweave of his jumpsuit, he didn’t bother to bite back a satisfied moan, rutting his hips into the touch by reflex. Gladio grabbed Ignis’s ass with one hand and fumbled at his outer suit jacket with the other, popping off the few buttons in his haste, provoking a quiet, amused laugh from Ignis.

“We gonna do this right now?” Gladio asked, too disoriented to bother with the Armiger.

{That depends on you,} Ignis replied, sliding his hand along Gladio’s cock and drawing a grunt from him.

Fuck. He was hard enough that he was beginning to ache and straining against his jumpsuit. “This is the dumbest fucking thing I’m ever gonna ask, but _can_ you? Shit, I don’t know,” Gladio said.

Ignis took Gladio’s hand in his—the one currently doing its best to strip Ignis of his shitting complicated clothing—and guided it down. Gladio’d been so tied up in his own pleasure that he’d failed to notice the hard-on Ignis was sporting, a boner he couldn’t fucking miss now that Ignis had put his hand on top of it.

{What do you think?} Ignis asked, low and quiet and utterly fucking lethal to Gladio’s resolve.

Gladio tipped his head back, hitting the glass of the viewpane with a dull thud. “Yeah, okay, I got it.”

{The table will do nicely,} Ignis suggested.

Gladio raised an eyebrow at Ignis. “You sure it’ll hold?”

{There’s only one way to find out.}

He wasn’t about to argue with that logic. “Hell, I don’t care, just don’t fucking stop touching me.” Gladio palmed Ignis’s cock through his pants with long strokes, following the length of it where it was trapped in his slacks, hyper-aware of his strength and the need for control with each pass. The tiny, shuddering gasp that Ignis gave as Gladio stroked him, the way his eyes fluttered closed—both images would be encoded in his memory for the rest of his life.

Ignis peeled back the synthweave from Gladio’s shoulders, pulling it down until Gladio was naked from the waist up. Ignis cupped the back of Gladio’s head with his free hand and drew him into another kiss, more tongue than lips at this point but with just as much intent as the first; he seemed as consumed with need as Gladio was, rocking his hips against Gladio’s hand and making a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

{Who... what _are_ you?} Gladio hadn’t meant to broadcast the question, but with his synapses scrambled, it happened anyway.

{Ignis,} came the response, breathless even in his head. Ignis nipped at Gladio’s lower lip before delving back into his mouth, the pressure of his tongue hot and firm against Gladio’s own.

His thoughts washed away as he indulged each new sensation—the texture of Ignis’s hair beneath his fingers, the flexing muscles of his back beneath the suit, the glow of the augments along his fingers, the organic, unique scent of him. He’d be damned if he could sort out how he felt about the guy, but Gladio ached for him. It was exactly like he had thought it would be and nothing like it all at the same time, a paradox, a contradiction defined by lips and skin and need.

Right as they’d started to make their way to the table, bodies still locked together, Ignis pulled away. His head snapped up and some of the focus returned to his eyes.

“What?” Gladio asked, worried he’d crossed a line.

Ignis didn’t respond for a handful of seconds that were long enough for Gladio to deem an eternity. “Shit. Noctis.”

Gladio might not have been a genius, but he could put two and two together between the name and the swear. “Some fucking timing,” he muttered as he started to tug his jumpsuit back on. Nothing he could do about his hard-on other than pray. Right as he grabbed his book and made his way to one of the tables facing _away_ from the observation lounge entrance, there was a pounding outside the doors.

“Specs, seriously, stop ignoring me! I really need your help on this one,” Noctis said over the intercom. “I’m overriding the damn door before we crash.”

Ignis’s transition from flushed and panting in Gladio’s arms to cool, calm, and collected was nothing short of astounding. Gladio’s mind reeled as he watched several things happen in rapid succession: Ignis stripped out of his damaged suit jacket, folded it and looped it over his forearm; he did _something_ with the lock, making it flash rapidly from red to green on a loop, that had Noct swearing through the intercom; finally, he settled in his chair and re-constructed the galaxy map, appearing for all the universe that he’d been there the whole time.

Noctis barrelled through the doors that had opened—unexpectedly, if Gladio had to guess—an indignant cast to his features.

“Why do you have me muted? Not crashing is sorta a big deal, and the whole reason we _have_ the Armiger... you know, for emergencies?” Noct said with far more energy than he usually showed.

“My apologies, _Your Highness,_ ” Ignis drawled, rising from his chair with perfect control, “I hadn’t realized the least dense portion of the asteroid field would require my personal attention. The Regalia’s intercoms are also perfectly functional.”

Noct rolled his eyes. “Why are you _like_ this? Come _on_.”

“It’s a cultivated talent borne from years of close proximity to you,” Ignis said crisply, waving his hand forward in an impatient gesture. “If the matter is truly so urgent, we’d best get to the bridge.”

Noct’s gaze flicked to Gladio for a moment before snapping back to Ignis. “Fine. Don’t mute me, dude.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude.’”

Gladio tuned out the tail end of their bickering as the observation lounge doors closed behind him. He waited for some kind of response from Ignis through the Armiger, but the connection remained silent, as silent as the lounge.

“Shitting fucking Astrals,” Gladio breathed, sinking back into the plush chair and willing his heart to stop thundering in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading, it means the world <3\. Your continued readership, support, patience, and understanding are all incredibly valued and do not go unnoticed.
> 
> I'm super grateful that the talented [@chi_peppers](https://twitter.com/chi_peppers) doodled a FAR OUT cyborg!Gladio that's now my AO3 icon. [You can see the full pic here!](https://twitter.com/chi_peppers/status/987449308554276864)
> 
> Another big thanks to talented artist and dear friend [Widget](https://widget-2.tumblr.com/) for this _amazing_ [Artificial!Gladio/Guardians of the Galaxy mashup](https://widget-2.tumblr.com/post/172900666435/when-words-fail-photoshop-flail-sometimes-i) and [this super SPOT ON Artificial!Ignis.](https://widget-2.tumblr.com/post/173417185536/operative-scientia-from-aliatoris-ffxv-cyberpunk) If you have a moment, please go give them both some love!
> 
> Come find me living the Gladiolus Amicitia appreciation life over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


	12. Nascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Ignis pick up where they left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever wonderful [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylianna). All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Rating updated to Explicit.

A jarring, harsh buzzer cut through the silence of the training room. Gladio looked down to see one translucent ‘arm’ sticking through his midsection.

“Fucking dumbass hologram,” Gladio swore under his breath.

“Unable to register command. Repeat input?” the teal-white, humanoid projection asked in a poorly synthesized voice.

“Fuck you.”

“Unable to register command. Repeat input?”

Gladio sighed and rolled his shoulders. He had a hard time telling the difference between metal and skin now, unlike the days when he first awoke, where every movement served as a reminder of his reconstructed, artificial body. If only that made it easier to focus. His piss-poor concentration meant he was losing simple evasive training exercises to a rudimentary hologram.

He guessed he could thank Ignis for that.

“Begin agility training program three-beta,” Gladio said.

“Loading program. Please wait.”

The two cycles after the observation lounge were some of the longest and most awkward of Gladio’s life to date. Considering all the bullshit antics his old unit had crammed into the handful of years he served with them… that was pretty fucking awkward.

“Program loaded. Say ‘ready’ to begin agility training program three-beta.”

One half of the modest training room was largely empty aside from thin, cushioned mats intended to absorb impact. Designed for sparring, it would be better if Gladio had an actual human opponent to square off against, but given that the only person he felt comfortable sparring against was the one avoiding him—again—he’d make do with the hologram.

He and Ignis hadn’t spoken since their… encounter in the observation lounge. Granted, only one off-shift had passed since then, but Ignis acted like the whole thing hadn’t happened at all, which didn’t exactly shock Gladio. The most he’d gotten was a tiny, knowing smile as they crossed paths in the common room before their shift.

Gladio settled into a waiting stance. His bare feet gripped the mats, warm in contrast to the chill of recycled air blowing across the exposed skin and metal of his chest.

“Ready.”

_Fuck_. Gladio had no idea how Ignis did it. Not for the first time—and not for the fucking last, that was for damn sure—Gladio wondered what sort of training he’d undergone to have such an impenetrable exterior. _I’ve wanted you for so long_ , Ignis had transmitted into his head, and shitting fuck, he’d certainly acted like it. All he could think about was Ignis’s tongue in his mouth, the firmness of his toned body beneath Gladio’s palms, and his voice inside his head.

“Current match victory parameters: best of three. Beginning program in three… two… one…”

The sparring was helping him stop thinking. Sort of.

Gladio moved aside as the hologram lunged in his direction. It was a clumsy attack, one that would have only caught the most inattentive of opponents off guard. Any contact with the hologram before the designated round time elapsed would count as a point against Gladio. In this case, he’d set the round time at five minutes, and the first two would be no sweat.

Unfortunately, that left him plenty of time to think about Ignis. Not that thinking about Ignis was anything new. 

In fact, Gladio had thought about him _at length_ last night once he was back in his quarters, black briefs shoved hastily down to his knees and one hand working his dick with careful, measured strokes. The image lodged in his brain as he came all over his hand and stomach was the one of Ignis unzipping his synthsuit with _intent_ , his eyes devouring each inch he exposed, his fingers trailing down Gladio’s body like he was unwrapping a birthday present. Reliving the memory alone was enough to make his cock stir with interest; the last thing he fucking needed right now was a hard on, so he forced his thoughts back to safer territory. 

The distraction almost made him lose the round to the same move he’d fallen for last time. Gladio barely avoided it by ducking low, his body curling into a crouch, the flash of light overhead the only detectable sign of the VI’s assault. He dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way as the hologram’s sensors registered his new position, changing its tactics and directing its attacks downward. 

He realized that he’d let himself get backed up against one of the far walls of the training room. He wasn’t Ignis, flipping and jumping and twisting in midair in flashy displays of core strength—nope, another dangerous topic to steer clear of—but he wasn’t a lumbering oaf. As the humanoid projection was about to land a roundhouse kick to Gladio’s chest, he jumped to the left towards the nearby wall. A sharp jolt of pain went through his bare feet from the impact, but Gladio propelled himself off the surface by using a combination of arms and legs, climbing a few steps up the wall before passing over the hologram’s head and landing on the mats behind it.

It was about this time that he heard the training room doors slide open.

All Gladio could afford was one quick glance over his shoulder. The glance confirmed that Ignis stood on the opposite side of the training room, dressed in… shit, dressed in one of the black, skintight synthsuits instead of his normal three-piece getup.

He wouldn’t be caught dead failing round one of a five round training program in front of Ignis. The remaining time on the round passed quickly as Gladio redoubled his efforts, falling into an easy rhythm of dodging and weaving around the light of the VI projection. Since no heat or sound emitted from the projection itself, Gladio’s focus narrowed to tracking his virtual opponent, ensuring he stayed well out of its reach.

A more gentle alarm signaled the end of the first segment. The hologram winked out of existence only to reappear in the centre of the sparring portion of the room.

“Two minutes until round two begins.”

“Pause,” Gladio instructed the VI, his attention now focused on Ignis. Ignis stood at the edge of the sparring area, arms folded across his chest, miniscule lines of electric light dancing along the surface of his visor.

“Program paused.”

“If you were in need of a sparring partner, you could have asked me,” Ignis said.

Gladio chuckled at that in spite of himself. “Yeah, I coulda. But at best, we’d probably end up making a few new dings in the Regalia, and at worst we’d cause a full on hull breach.” He nodded in the direction of the paused hologram. “Thought the VI would be safer.”

“Come now. Surely your control has improved enough that we wouldn’t need to worry about all that?”

Control of his augments wasn’t exactly the issue. Shitting Astrals, he’d graduated to jerking off with his very own hand, so the upper and lower limits of his control were pretty fucking established. Things had a way of getting out of control when Ignis was involved, getting out of control _fast_ , and when the fallout involved severe damage to their home and lifeline out in the middle of space, well…

“Wasn’t in the mood for a full on match. Couldn’t get my old CO—Drautos—out of my head. He used to give me shit for my goddamn embarrassing agility training scores, back when I first joined Glaive Ops. I was tryin’ to review the updates on the Altissia itinerary, but it wasn’t happening, so I figured I’d take a break and get a sweat going,” Gladio explained.

Ignis tilted his head to one side as his eyes flicked up and down Gladio’s body, assessing. “It appears as though you haven’t quite met that objective.” The lilt in his tone put the words in the teasing category instead of the cutting one.

“I just got started. And,” Gladio said, pausing to fold his arms over his bare chest, the winged pendant of his necklace sliding against his augments, “unless you need something urgent, I’m gonna get back to it.”

The combination of Ignis adjusting his visor before sweeping a hand backwards through his styled hair put Gladio on alert. Ignis never did the double nervous gesture combo—hell, it was rare enough to see him do one, let alone both. His chest rose and fell in a single, deep breath before he crossed the distance to where Gladio stood. 

“I’m uncertain if it could be classified as either urgent or need. However…” Ignis started, reaching out with one gloved hand and resting it against Gladio’s outer forearm, locking his eyes with Gladio’s, “there is something I want.”

_Oh._

Adrenaline flooded Gladio’s bloodstream, dancing along his arteries straight to his fucking heart, a heart that skipped a beat before surging back to a fierce cadence.

“Kinda thought what happened in the observation lounge was over and done,” Gladio offered. “You ain’t exactly the easiest guy to read.”

“I needed time to consider. I’m done considering.”

Gladio glanced down at Ignis’s hand on his arm before cutting back to his face. He fucking came dressed for the occasion, that was for damn sure, wearing that shitting synthsuit that looked painted on. Ignis’s razor-sharp eyebrows were drawn low in thought, but for once the calculating expression was absent from his vivid green eyes. He seemed… earnest, Gladio thought, confident as always on the outside, but there was a nervous energy simmering beneath the sudden tension.

“You really are used to getting what you want, huh, _Operative?_ ” Gladio asked with a smirk. He gently brushed Ignis’s hand off his arm so he could take hold of Ignis’s waist; the warmth of his skin and the sharp lines of his hip bones against Gladio’s palms were enough to make his pulse quicken.

“So are you, _Lieutenant_ , if the reports are to be believed,” Ignis replied. Challenge glinted in his eyes, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

“Another way we’re alike, I guess,” Gladio said. He bit back a sigh as Ignis ran his leather-covered fingers up Gladio’s chest from navel to metal-clad shoulders before looping them around Gladio’s neck.

“Indeed.” Ignis took a step closer, pressing his body against Gladio’s. Fuck—the feel of Ignis against him was getting way too shitting familiar.

A trickle of doubt threaded through the lust Ignis was so skilled at sparking in him. “What’s in it for you, anyway? Us gettin’ together? I heard a rumor you don’t do anything without some kind of ulterior motive.” Gladio rubbed his thumbs back and forth along the juts of Ignis’s hips underneath the synthskin as he spoke.

{Is it so difficult to believe that I want you for myself and myself alone?} Ignis retorted. Hearing him speak the words inside Gladio’s head was good, yeah, but he wanted something different if they were gonna do this for real.

“Hell no. You’re the one who has half a dozen dossiers on me _and_ the firsthand experience. You should know by now I’m pretty fuckin’ fantastic.”

{Arrogant,} Ignis said, but his smile widened a hair.

“Confident. And you love it.”

{Don’t get ahead of yourself.}

If Ignis wanted to fuck around with the Armiger, two could play that game. He ran through the mental commands to open his connection with Ignis; he muted Noct and Prompto at the same time, unwilling to have any interruptions. Once he finished, Gladio bent his head and mouthed lazy kisses against Ignis’s neck, trailing them along the strip of skin between Ignis’s jaw and the collar of his synthsuit. Desire built in Gladio at each of Ignis’s reactions: the breathy exhale he gave, the subtle backwards tilt of his neck to afford Gladio better access, and the way he moved one hand to cradle the back of Gladio’s head.

{We gonna get interrupted again?}

{Noctis and Prompto are logged into their VR game and barricaded on the bridge, so they can be considered occupied for the foreseeable future. I can lock your quarters and prevent any external overrides.}

{My quarters, huh?} Gladio asked, pulling back from Ignis’s neck. He admired the slight pink tinge to Ignis’s cheeks as he studied him.

{It wouldn’t do to have you destroying mine should you lose control of your strength.}

Gladio laughed at this, low and quiet and delighted. He angled his hips to make sure Ignis could feel his rapidly growing hard-on against his upper thigh. His augmented hearing picked up the soft, cut-off hum Ignis made as Gladio ground his erection against him. 

“What exactly,” Gladio started, lowering his face so that his lips were a finger’s breadth apart from Ignis’s own, deliberately switching to spoken words so that Ignis could feel the physical sensation of breath along his skin, “do you think we’ll be getting up in _anyone’s_ quarters? That would end up with broken shit, I mean.”

{You know very well what I intend.}

“Yeah, well, I wanna hear you say it,” Gladio said, never breaking eye contact with Ignis as he spoke. “Out loud.”

Ignis hesitated. The hesitation resolved to a look Gladio had seen before, the look Ignis got when he knew he was about to score a point in his favour.

“I have any number of explicit scenarios in mind that I could enumerate, but I’d much rather demonstrate them for you instead,” Ignis said, voice both mock-innocent and heated, his accent as precise as ever.

Any remaining reservation or doubt disintegrated into subatomic particles at Ignis’s words. The flash of heat that spread through his body left Gladio feeling feverish despite the chill of the training room. He groaned and adjusted his grip on Ignis, hooking each of his arms around Ignis’s outer thighs.

“Gonna show you just how much control I have,” Gladio ground out through his teeth, a mere instant before lifting Ignis off the ground.

He half expected Ignis to put up a fight or demand to be let go, but he just wrapped his long legs around Gladio’s waist, thighs clamped around his hips like a vice, his arms draped across Gladio’s neck and shoulders. Heavier than he looked—Gladio suspected without augments the feat wouldn’t be as easy to pull off—but as it stood, Ignis was a comfortable weight in his arms. A comfortable, warm, solid weight, clad in nothing more than a thin layer of synthskin. Fuck, it was gratifying to finally feel like he had a little control over… whatever this thing was between them; it was even more gratifying to have Ignis clinging to him like his life depended on it.

They were kissing before Gladio took three steps towards the door, urgent and messy and open mouthed. The noise Ignis made, the full scope of it stifled by the kiss, sounded suspiciously like a whine. The supple leather of Ignis’s glove was a comforting sensation on the back of his scalp as he tugged Gladio closer, kissing him harder and deeper, visor bumping against Gladio’s nose as he adjusted the angle of the kiss.

The training room doors slid open automatically. Gladio carried Ignis through them, navigating the Regalia’s corridors by memory more than sight, arms and vision both full of Ignis. 

{Your shoes.}

Gladio broke away from Ignis with a deep breath follow by a huffed laugh. “You come find me, tell me you wanna fuck, and you’re worried about my shitting shoes?”

{I was only telling you in case—}

Whatever Ignis meant to transfer over the Armiger was lost in a soft gasp as Gladio grazed his teeth over Ignis’s earlobe. He was pleased to feel a shiver course through Ignis’s body at the action. For as good as he was at concealing his emotions, he seemed to be far more responsive to touch, reacting to Gladio’s caresses as though each one were the first.

Hell. In a way, Gladio supposed they were.

He kept walking in the vague direction of his quarters. A muffled groan escaped him as Ignis removed one hand from the back of Gladio’s neck, gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger, and turned Gladio’s face back to his. He kept his gloved hand there as he kissed Gladio, hard and deep, his tongue like velvet along the inside of Gladio’s mouth. By now there was no way for Ignis to hide his own erection, an erection that slid against Gladio’s bare stomach with each step Gladio took.

{Someone’s eager.} He switched to the Armiger in order to keep kissing Ignis, nipping at his lips each time he dove back in, their mouths locked together with more force than strictly necessary because of his fervor. Gladio dug his fingertips into Ignis’s thighs, holding him tighter, relishing the feel of chiseled muscle beneath his grip.

{I’m not alone in my eagerness.} To demonstrate his point, Ignis rolled his hips once, his whole body echoing the motion in one sinuous curve. The hand that had previously gripped Gladio’s chin slid down his chest; Ignis trailed his fingers down the exposed muscle with infinite slowness, leather-covered fingers teasing out every ridge and crevice of Gladio’s body.

Shitting Astrals.

The fact that they were in the common room didn’t stop Gladio from pinning Ignis against the nearest wall. Gladio grunted as he shoved Ignis against the immaculate surface; it was easy enough to tense his thighs and keep Ignis trapped between his body and the smooth, black nanocarbonite of the Regalia’s interior. Ignis paused to push his visor back over the sweep of his hair before he cradled the base of Gladio’s neck with his palm, urging Gladio back to his swollen lips, mouth parted and waiting for Gladio’s with a surprising hunger.

Gladio kept one hand on Ignis’s thigh and braced himself against the wall with the other. Reeling with desire-induced vertigo, he didn’t notice the strength with which he placed his hand on the wall until a metal _crunch_ echoed through the common room.

{Be careful!} Ignis hissed the words through the Armiger. It didn’t stop him from rutting his hips against Gladio’s in search of friction, or from gasping as Gladio mouthed wet kisses against his neck, or from letting his eyes flutter closed when Gladio reached his lips and sucked the bottom one into his mouth.

They broke apart, though only Gladio was short of breath. Aside from the suggestion of pink to an otherwise normal coloration of cheeks—and a few strands of hair displaced by the visor resting atop Ignis’s head—he appeared perfectly collected. 

{Do you _want_ to be found here? If not, I suggest moving this to your quarters ASAP.}

Gladio hummed his approval as he nuzzled his face into the curve of Ignis’s neck. {That an order, _Operative?_ }

{Do you want it to be, Lieutenant?} He could feel Ignis’s fingers scraping against the augments covering his shoulders like a far off dream, too dull to provide any real sensation, but with enough force that Gladio could tell he was grasping at the metal.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Gladio didn’t know what he wanted—aside from Ignis out of his stupid synthsuit, some attention on his throbbing dick, and preferably a long, thick cock in his ass—but getting Ignis to his quarters seemed like the best way to find out. He adjusted his grip and continued through the common room, his mouth pressed to Ignis’s the entire way, the short exhales through his nose increasing in tempo along with his heartbeat. Shit, Ignis may as well have jabbed a syringe of phoenix down right in his heart for how fast his pulse was racing.

He jammed Ignis against the wall one final time as he fumbled to open his door, tapping his left wrist in the vague area where the control panel was for his quarters. After three or four times—and one small dent above the panel made by Gladio’s haste—the doors finally opened with a soft _snick_ and _woosh_ beside them. Gladio easily carried Ignis through and felt the gentle stirring of air behind him as the doors closed shut.

{You can let go of me,} Ignis said.

With a gargantuan effort, Gladio drew back, studying Ignis. {If I let go now, you’re gonna hit the floor.}

A knowing smirk with a sharp edge curved Ignis’s lips. There was a flicker of challenge in his gem-like eyes. {Why don’t you try it and find out?}

Gladio raised an eyebrow at Ignis, but complied with the suggestion. His cock twitched as Ignis stayed attached to him by the grip of his thighs alone. As if that feat of athleticism wasn’t enough to make his dick swell to painful hardness beneath his sweats, Ignis upped the ante. While still gripping Gladio’s waist by the legs, he slowly lowered his upper body to the floor. Once his palms were flat on the ground, he _shifted_ —a move Gladio had last seen back in Insomnia—and cartwheeled away from Gladio to a standing position, somehow avoiding all the obstacles in the modest quarters.

“Fuck,” Gladio breathed, forgetting the Armiger entirely as he drank in the sight of Ignis. The shitting synthsuit clung to every lean, defined muscle as Ignis removed his visor from the top of his head and set it on the table. When he raised his elegant fingers to the concealed zipper of his synthsuit, Gladio wondered if his visor was flashing a vital sign warning somewhere in his quarters. As Ignis started to unzip the jumpsuit, eyes locked to Gladio’s, Gladio took a step forward and covered Ignis’s hand with his own.

“Can I?” Gladio asked, his voice thick with desire.

Ignis lifted his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. {You may.}

He couldn’t look everywhere at once, but he was giving it his best fucking shot. Gladio took the zipper between thumb and forefinger and pulled it down, slow and steady, exposing Ignis’s pale chest centimetre by centimetre. He barely registered Ignis’s lips finding his own as Gladio unzipped him all the way, the zipper ending just below Ignis’s navel. As they parted for air, Gladio’s gaze dipped down, and the air left his lungs in a rush.

Not only was there a wicked, dark pink scar along the length of Ignis’s ribs, there was a softly pulsating glow right above Ignis’s heart, fluctuating in time with what Gladio guessed was his heartbeat.

{Surely you’ve seen worse?} Ignis asked, confident and sure, peeling the black jumpsuit from his shoulders with a practiced motion. He paused to toe off his shoes before continuing to remove his jumpsuit. Once Ignis was naked to the waist, Gladio could follow the pattern of his augments all the way up his arms before they disappeared behind his back. Each movement of Ignis’s sent little comets of light shooting along his augments—though the tech itself had a more organic appearance, like the nerve diagrams Gladio had studied in field medicine, as opposed to synthetic constructions. There were more scars too, evenly spaced affairs that covered Ignis’s forearms and chest in neat, identical, pale white lines. 

It was like nothing Gladio had ever seen before. He realized he was holding his breath and let it out in one slow, shaky exhale. 

{I… it ain’t a matter of worse, Iggy, it’s a matter of you.}

{I mentioned I had undergone augmentations procedures,} Ignis said. He continued stripping out of the jumpsuit until it puddled around his feet in an inky pool. With one graceful motion, he stepped out of it, completely naked in front of Gladio save for a pair of tight black boxer briefs. The fact that his cock was tenting the fabric made Gladio’s own dick ache.

{I remember,} Gladio replied. He ran his hands along Ignis’s obliques as his eyes went lower. {Turn around? I wanna see all of you.}

There was a knowing glint to Ignis’s gaze before he turned around, exposing his back to Gladio. Gladio couldn’t help the sharp, indrawn hiss of breath that accompanied the sight.

His augments… really were like nerve pathways. Who knew, maybe the fucking things followed them exactly? The tech stretched all the way from the nape of Ignis’s neck to the backs of his ankles in veiny pathways, splitting off like tiny tree branches, each segment no less visible for how small they might be. They seemed to be concentrated along the entire back half of Ignis’s body, though a few pathways curled up around his forearms to spread across the backs of his hands.

It was beautiful. No, beautiful wasn’t it. Exotic? Captivating? Fucking shit. Who cared?

Gladio watched as blue-white lights pulsed and rippled beneath Ignis’s skin, following the augments as Ignis shifted, hooking his thumbs in the band of his underwear. More meticulous scars covered Ignis’s back and chest and legs, all of them equidistant and the same length, no two scars crossing the same space. Whatever theories Gladio was about to form about their origins evaporated as Ignis pulled his underwear past the firm curve of his ass and let them fall to the ground.

Ignis tossed Gladio a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised and lips quirked in a minute smile, ash-blonde pompadour tousled. {Do you like what you see?}

Yes. _Fuck_ yes. Gladio wanted to see the front half a whole hell of a lot more than he wanted to see the back half, but he sure wasn’t complaining about the view. He could also go for Ignis sitting down and spreading those long, toned legs and letting Gladio get between them. At this point he was aching for any sort of contact, some sort of release for the yearning that built deep inside him like a fusion reaction; kneeling in front of Ignis and sucking his cock would work just as much as the next thing right now, particularly if said cock sucking involved Ignis keeping those shitting gloves on.

{Since you thought it so nicely…} Ignis’s voice was a hot whisper in Gladio’s head. He took the few steps towards Gladio’s bunk—still out from last off-shift’s sleep—and sat on the edge of it, thighs spread, and looked up at Gladio.

With the sluggishness of a man deep in the throes of desire, Gladio realized he must have transmitted all of that fantasy over the Armiger.

He also didn’t give a shit.

Ignis’s cock was just as long and pretty as Gladio had imagined in all his fantasies, slightly curved, and currently straining towards the trim, tensed plane of his belly. The head of it was flushed a deep pink, a tiny bead of precome welling at the tip as Gladio stared at it openly. He’d expected Ignis to have more body hair, but there was only the barest dusting of blonde hair at the base of his cock, matched by a modest patch along Ignis’s chest. The scars and the glowing augments and gorgeous dick made up for it, though.

{Do you really want me to keep the gloves on?} Ignis asked with an impish grin, spreading his legs a little wider.

“Yes,” Gladio ground out. He stood affixed to the spot, wanting to move but unable, paralyzed by the multitude of possibilities.

{Then I suggest taking off the rest of your clothing and letting me see you as well,} Ignis purred.

Gladio didn’t need to be told twice. He yanked off his sweats and boxers in one single motion and kicked them aside once they hit the floor. He stood a little straighter, flexing for Ignis, never one to be shy about his impeccable physique. Gladio knew how he must look—all rippling muscles and dark augments—and judging by the way the electronic noise disappeared from Ignis’s eyes, his pupils blown wide, Ignis wasn’t unaffected.

{You’re absolutely stunning.} Ignis’s voice was a heated coil of need unwinding in Gladio’s head. He raised a hand and crooked a gloved finger at Gladio, beckoning him closer, and that’s all it took.

The first thing Gladio noticed as he dropped to his knees in front of Ignis was the faint, pleasant musk of his natural scent, overpowering the artificial odor of campfire that pervaded his quarters. The fact that Ignis’s cock bobbed mere centimetres away from Gladio’s mouth certainly didn’t hurt the effect. Gladio ran his hands up the back of Ignis’s calves until he reached the crook of his knees, then curled them around to Ignis’s inner thighs once they were high enough. The murmur of approval that Ignis gave low in his throat as Gladio rubbed his inner thighs with the heels of his palms echoed through his chest.

Gladio leaned forward and rested his lips against the head of Ignis’s cock. He was about to open his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. {You sure this is what you want, Iggy?} Gladio’s eyes travelled up the scarred planes of Ignis’s chest—when their gazes met, it was through the curtain of Gladio’s eyelashes.

Ignis cupped the back of Gladio’s head with his hand and urged him gently forward, and that was all the answer Gladio needed.

He began to place wet, messy kisses down the length of Ignis’s cock. The soft, taut skin of his shaft felt amazing against his lips, as did the prominent vein along the underside. Gladio teased at Ignis’s dick with the tip of his tongue, tracing that vein top to bottom several times before ending up back at the head. When Gladio took Ignis’s cockhead between his lips and swirled his tongue around it in slow circles, he was rewarded with a breathy little sigh that made his own dick twitch. Gladio groaned at the salty, slightly bitter spread of precome along his tongue, suckling at the head of Ignis’s dick while plying his frenulum with his tongue.

{Gladio—} Ignis might have spoken in his head, but the quiet moan he gave was entirely physical. {It’s been long enough. Stop teasing.}

Gladio snuck a glance upward and found Ignis with one hand flat on the bed behind him, supporting his weight, the other hand still cupped around the back of Gladio’s head. His head was tipped back to expose the pale column of his throat—and reddened marks that were sure to darken to purple later—which fluttered with the strength of his pulse. Gladio laughed, low and quiet, as Ignis rolled his hips upward, clearly wanting more of Gladio’s mouth on him.

It was difficult to string together coherent thought with desire rising like one of the Vesperpools’ tidal storms inside him, but Gladio was nothing if not determined. {You can control your fuckin’ pulse. Can’t you control this?}

Ignis let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a scoff. {In this, I’m as human as you are.}

{You don’t look it.}

Ignis’s pointed look, pupils like black vortexes swallowing the green, sent a quiver through Gladio’s belly. {Why don’t you keep going and tell me if I _feel_ it?}

Until that moment, wanting Ignis had been difficult and complicated, fraught with concerns about trust and the future. Now, with the raw passion laced through those words, with the unbridled _need_ in Ignis’s gaze, Gladio’s reservations were stripped away.

Wanting Ignis was natural and innate as breathing once he stopped fighting it.

Acting on that want was easier than all the tasks that lay ahead of them, easier than unearthing all of Ignis’s secrets, easier than worrying about his friends and family so many light years away, easier than dying and living and maybe dying again.

So Gladio acted.

He took Ignis’s cock back in his mouth, covering his teeth with his lips and sinking as far down as he could go. It’d been a nanosecond or two since his last time in the sack, but the motions were familiar. Ignis sighed and applied the slightest pressure on the back of Gladio’s head, coaxing him further downward, and Gladio was all too happy to oblige. He went until his gag reflex had other ideas, his throat spasming reflexively around Ignis’s cock; the moan Ignis let out as Gladio choked was the hottest sound he’d heard since he’d came back a cyborg, so he did it once more just for fun.

Ignis tasted so fucking _good_. He was all clean skin and salt, his cock impossibly hard beneath Gladio’s lips and slick with the saliva Gladio let flow freely around it. He curled one hand around his own dick, gripping it at the base with all the careful control he’d taunted Ignis with in the training room, and began to stroke it in time with the up and down motion of his mouth. The first upward pass sent a shiver of pleasure through Gladio’s body, his desperate craving for friction somewhat alleviated.

Despite all of his enhanced senses, Gladio’s focus narrowed to the taste of Ignis in his mouth, to the feel of his stiff cock sliding along his tongue, to the hollowing of his cheeks as he sucked Ignis off. Even the twinge in his back from being hunched between Ignis’s legs and the dig of the hard, bare floor of his quarters against his knees was drowned in the thrill of having his hands and mouth on the straight-laced Operative. He bobbed his head faster, taking Ignis deeper, eager and unashamed, working Ignis’s cock with lips and tongue and pressure.

For the first time since living again, Gladio finally felt _alive_. Human.

He wanted more. 

{Gladio…} Ignis drew his name out across three ragged syllables in his head.

The thigh that Gladio rested his free hand on trembled beneath his palm. Gladio drew his head back and came off of Ignis’s cock with a lewd, wet noise. Ignis was looking down at him, one gloved hand caressing the back of Gladio’s close-shaved head, cheeks flushed pink and hair disheveled. Gladio stroked his own cock faster at the sight, giving the head a gentle squeeze between thumb and forefinger on each upward stroke. 

{Do you want me to stop?} Gladio asked, rubbing his closed lips along Ignis’s cock as he did. Once he reached the head, he made eye contact with Ignis and teased the slit with the tip of his tongue. Gladio watched as some of the haze cleared from Ignis’s gaze, replaced by something primal and urgent.

{I want to finish in your mouth.} As though to emphasize his point, Ignis tightened his grip on the back of Gladio’s head and drew him closer, a new droplet of precome beading at the flushed, glistening tip of his dick.

{Fuck... _Fuck_ , that’s hot.} Gladio took Ignis in his mouth again and moaned around his cock, falling into the same rhythm as before, his heart pounding furiously behind his ribs. Endorphins and pleasure washed away the slight ache in his jaw, his own cock leaking precome onto the polished floor as he stroked it with as much speed and pressure as he dared. Ignis’s thighs continued to shake underneath Gladio’s hands, his breath coming out in short, staccato gasps that may as well have been pulse rifle shots to Gladio’s hearing.

The only warning he got before Ignis came was a loud grunt and a steel-like tension in the muscle of his thighs, and then Ignis flooded Gladio’s mouth with his release, thick and slightly bitter and absolutely fucking wonderful. Gladio swallowed down every last drop of Ignis’s come; only when Ignis’s cock stopped twitching in Gladio’s mouth did he pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving a streaky smear of saliva across skin and metal alike.

Shit. Ignis had released his hold on Gladio somewhere along the way and had both palms flat on Gladio’s bunk, toned chest heaving as he came down from his orgasm. Pulses of light traveled along his augments as he shifted on the bed, softening cock resting heavily against his inner thigh. Just looking at his scarred, augmented, gorgeous body was enough to make Gladio’s dick jump in his hand. As he was considering finishing himself off right on the fucking floor in front of Ignis, that accented voice spoke inside his head.

{If you stand up and take a step closer,} Ignis began, unsnapping the fastening of one glove and pulling it off his hand before repeating the motion with the other, setting both aside, {I’d be delighted to return the favour.}

Gladio didn’t need to be told twice.

He stood from the floor, his dick hard enough now to curve towards his stomach. When Gladio hesitated, Ignis reached out and placed a hand on the back of Gladio’s thigh, pulling him closer. Once Gladio was slotted nicely between Ignis’s legs—standing, this time—Ignis took hold of his other leg, caging him in. Gladio let his hands drift to Ignis’s shoulders, the stark black of his augmented hands striking against the pale, intermittent glow of Ignis’s body.

{Do be mindful of your strength,} Ignis said, leaning forward to press a kiss to the juncture where Gladio’s thigh met his hip. The unexpected tenderness in the gesture caused a twinge deep in Gladio’s chest, but he was in no mindset to examine it closer.

{Worried I’m gonna break you?} Gladio shot back, grinning down at Ignis with a echo of old confidence from a lifetime ago.

{I’d prefer to not be bruised come our next shift, though I’m relatively certain I’m the one person you can’t break.} Ignis placed several more kisses in the neat, dark curls at the base of Gladio’s cock before glancing up at him. {Perhaps another time we can put that theory more fully to the test, but for now…}

Gladio’s mind hooked on the words ‘another time,’ but before he had time to fully consider their meaning, Ignis’s soft hand and softer lips were on his cock, obliterating any conscious thought entirely. Gladio’s fingers tightened on Ignis’s shoulders as Ignis pushed Gladio’s cock towards his stomach and ran the flat of his tongue along the underside.

He wished he knew how to use his shitting neurolink better, because _fuck_ , the image of Ignis’s tongue against Gladio’s dick with half-lidded, hungry eyes was one he never wanted to forget. Ignis cocked an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a knowing smirk, before closing his lips around the head of Gladio’s cock and engulfing most of it in one smooth motion.

_Shitting Astrals_.

Ignis’s mouth was like liquid, heated silk against his cock. Fuck, did getting head always feel this good, or had it just been too fucking long? Gladio almost laughed at the inappropriately timed thought; any such inclination dissolved in a wave of pleasure as Ignis began to use his hand in time with his mouth, setting a rapid tempo, each motion as precise as Ignis himself was.

Heat began to simmer low in his belly, each pass of Ignis’s mouth threatening to draw that heat out straight through his cock. Gladio’d been walking on the laser-precise edge of climax already, but when he glanced down at Ignis and saw his pale pink lips stretched around the girth of his cock, he groaned his approval out long and loud.

Without conscious thought, Gladio followed the line of Ignis’s collarbone with his palm, curving up and around to card his fingers through Ignis’s hair. He resisted both the impulse to thrust into the willing, warm mouth working his cock and to pull Ignis further down onto his dick. He was doing a damn fine job at controlling the pace—so fine, in fact, that Gladio wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last.

The joints in his knees went watery as Ignis began to suck in earnest, drawing another moan from Gladio. Through the haze of lust and need, a trickle of fear floated up, the fear that he might hurt Ignis (again). He had enough presence of mind to remove his hands from Ignis’s shoulder and hair, placing them against the wall. He _didn’t_ stop himself from placing two new dents in said wall with a dull, metallic thud.

Ignis hummed out a moan around Gladio’s cock. He’d expected some quip over the Armiger, but Ignis only increased his pace, stroking Gladio’s dick more firmly in time with his lips and tongue. 

“Iggy—” Gladio panted, body slightly bowed over Ignis’s. He screwed his eyes shut against the building pressure of pleasure, then opened them again, drinking in the flickering, vein-like augments all along Ignis’s back that cast shadows against the now damaged wall.

{Let go.} Ignis breathed the words into Gladio’s mind with his cock still in his mouth, and that was enough.

His orgasm tore through him in a bright arc, ripping the breath right out of his lungs. He vaguely heard himself groaning as he spilled into Ignis’s waiting mouth, cock pulsing and legs shaking. The tension that gripped Gladio felt a lot like one of his calibration spasms, fierce and painful, followed by immediate relief as the bliss of orgasm flooded his veins. Gladio expected Ignis to be a spitter, but he swallowed Gladio’s come as willingly as Gladio had his, and if it were possible for him to stay hard, Gladio thought that knowledge alone might have done it.

“Shitting fucking Astrals. Scoot over,” Gladio said, the words tight and breathless. Ignis’s eyes cut to Gladio’s for an instant before he complied, licking his lips once as he moved to the end of the bunk.

Once there was room, Gladio hit the bunk knees first, the bed creaking under the combined weight of two cyborgs over 180cm tall. It didn’t give, though, so Gladio moved around Ignis until he could lay flat on his back, chest heaving.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, trying to decide if he would use the Armiger or not. Gladio opted for plain old speech. “That was… shit, that was nice.”

Ignis twisted his torso, the motion contorting the scars along his sides and chest, and gave a few slow blinks. With a sudden tentativeness to the gesture that hadn’t been there _at all_ two fucking minutes prior, Ignis reached out and ran his bare fingers along the length of Gladio’s shin.

{An accurate but inadequate choice of adjective.}

Gladio snorted. “If you expected poetry, be prepared to be disappointed.”

{But you’re so fond of it.} Ignis laughed once, a wry, quick sound. It was a good sound coming from him… normal. Borderline reassuring. He trailed his fingers up towards Gladio’s groin, the touches feather light. {I’ll do my best to contain my utter devastation.}

A flutter of frisson prickled Gladio’s skin into gooseflesh at Ignis’s casual touch. Fuck, he… he didn’t want Ignis to go; Gladio wanted to keep him here in his quarters and forget about the goddamn mission for another hour or two, but he thought that might be wishful thinking. He allowed himself the luxury of staring—because, yeah, it was staring—at Ignis for a few more seconds before he spoke.

“I’m sure you have work to do if you wanna go,” Gladio offered, trying to give Ignis a graceful way out.

Electronic light danced across the internal HUD in Ignis’s eyes, his expression thoughtful, which prompted a scoff from Gladio. “Okay, when I said you had work to do, I didn’t expect you to start right fuckin’ now.”

{I was checking to see if Noctis and Prompto are still logged into VR. For the record, they are. Which means I could stay.} After a beat, Ignis added aloud, “If you’d like.”

“I would. It’s a tight fit for two of us on one bunk, though. Might have to get cozy.”

Ignis tilted his head a fraction, a hint of a smirk twisting his lips. {Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.} How he managed to _crawl_ gracefully eluded Gladio, but he did, shifting on the bunk until he was flush against Gladio’s side, head resting on the bunk’s single pillow. He traced the outline of Gladio’s abs with his pointer finger in slow, idle circles, sending another shiver coursing through Gladio’s body.

“You’re full of surprises, y’know,” Gladio commented, voice low, turning over on his side to free up a little more space on the bunk.

Ignis copied the motion by rolling over on his side as well. His hands roamed across Gladio’s obliques instead, following the path of metal augments down Gladio’s hips and upper thighs until it transitioned to skin alone. {I enjoy being unpredictable.}

“You don’t say.” Gladio leaned forward and claimed Ignis’s mouth with his own, indulging in a slower, more languorous kiss than the ones they’d exchanged on the way to his quarters. Ignis kissed him back, lips parting for Gladio, velvety soft against Gladio’s own; the slightly bitter, lingering taste of his come on Ignis’s tongue sent an aching twinge through his groin. _Fuck_. He reached out for Ignis, draping an arm across his waist, feeling out his myriad scars with his fingertips as they continued exchanging lazy kisses.

{You should know by now I always say exactly what I mean, Gladio.} Ignis skimmed his hand up the back of Gladio’s thigh before cupping one of his asscheeks and giving it a firm squeeze.

{I’m learning,} Gladio agreed, switching to the Armiger so that he didn’t have to take his mouth from Ignis’s. {You gonna tell me how you got all these scars, or is that top secret too?}

{Which ones?} He could swear he heard a playful lilt in Ignis’s voice, but it could have also been his imagination.

{Oh, I dunno.} Gladio’s hand found the largest scar splashed across Ignis’s ribs and ran his fingertips across it, the skin stretched and shimmery under his touch. {This one looks pretty nasty.}

{A souvenir from one of the first reconnaissance missions I conducted on my own. I allowed an Imperial saboteur armed with a heat lance to get inside my guard—this was the result.} Ignis found the hollow of Gladio’s throat and placed a closed lip kiss there, his exhale warm and moist against his skin.

{Tell me you at least fucked him up good for his trouble.} Gladio hummed his approval as Ignis nipped at the part of his collarbone not covered by augments.

{Were he still alive, he’d have far more scars than I would.} Ignis’s tiny smile was undercut by a dark cast to his seafoam eyes.

{That’s the Ignis I know,} Gladio said with a quiet laugh. {I’m guessin’ all the little scars are from your augmentation surgeries?}

{Astute,} Ignis murmured. He licked upwards from the hollow of Gladio’s throat and over his Adam’s apple before ending up back at Gladio’s lips.

As they kissed, Ignis pressed his body closer to Gladio’s, close enough that there was no space between them. It took Gladio several long, distracted moments interspersed with wet, heated kisses to realize Ignis’s cock was half-hard against his thigh—and that Ignis was gently rolling his hips against Gladio’s thigh, cock swelling more with each pass.

“Shit, Iggy… once wasn’t enough?” The words, pitched half an octave lower than usual, felt and sounded thick when he said them aloud instead of over the Armiger.

Ignis met and held his gaze, lips swollen and pupils wide. {How could it be?}

He didn’t have an answer to that.

Gladio cradled the back of Ignis’s head and pulled him in close, kissing him fiercely, robbed of any coherent words by the question. Ignis returned it with equal urgency; his kisses were finally growing sloppy, blurry at the edges, more tongue than lips at this point, enunciated with a clack of teeth. The glow of his augments cast rippling shadows against the dark green walls of Gladio’s quarters, a brilliant display in the dim automatic lights of the room.

When Ignis wedged a hand between their bodies to cup Gladio’s cock, Gladio groaned into their kiss. Fuck, he was actually getting hard again, spurred on by Ignis’s touch. He was surprised to find his desire building as rapidly as it had before, the strength of his need only somewhat abated by his earlier orgasm.

Gladio knew what he wanted—what he ached for. All that was left to do was ask.

“Fuck me,” Gladio whispered against Ignis’s mouth, voice husky and hands roaming. He brought his forehead to rest against Ignis’s, breath coming faster now, eyes drifting closed. “I want you to fuck me so badly.”

{Are you certain?}

{Yeah, yes, _fuck_ yes.} More words spilled from him unbidden as Ignis lowered his head to one of Gladio’s nipples and swirled his tongue around it. {Shitting fucking Astrals!} Gladio hissed as Ignis squeezed his dick; he felt himself growing more stiff against Ignis’s palm. “Pretty sure that’s all I’ve wanted since I saw you beside me the first time I woke up.” At this point his thoughts were so scattered that his speech switched between vocal and Armiger without his conscious effort.

Ignis tilted his face up from where he lavished Gladio’s chest with kisses. His eyes cut to Gladio’s like quicksilver; the only way to describe the look in his eyes was naked, raw lust. {Good, because I would very much like to be inside you.} 

At least they were on the same page about something besides the end of the fucking universe. Finally.

There was a flash of blue-white that Gladio recognized as an item materializing from the Armiger. Two items, in fact: a condom and lube.

He laughed in spite of himself. {You just keep your sex shit in the Armiger?}

Ignis sat up on the bunk and leveled a disapproving look at Gladio. {The only way Noctis would check the Armiger inventory is under pain of death, and I’m nothing if not prepared.} Ignis grabbed Gladio’s hip, urging him towards the bed. {On your stomach, Gladiolus.}

Gladio’s cock and heart twitched in unison. {Bossy asshole.}

{You enjoy it. Don’t pretend otherwise.} Gladio could practically hear the smirk in the words.

{The fact that you know everything about me,} Gladio complained as he rolled over to lay on his stomach, {is so fuckin’ unfair.}

{Allow me to make it up to you.}

The click of the lube bottle was easily audible in the silence of Gladio’s quarters. If he focused his augmented hearing, he could hear the tiny, liquid noise of Ignis squirting some on his hand. Gladio braced himself on his forearms and looked over his shoulder at Ignis. His eyes went immediately down to Ignis’s cock, hanging hard and heavy between his thighs, and he had to take a few deep breaths to steady his pulse.

{Gonna open me up, too? How generous of you,} Gladio said with more confidence than his rapidly pounding heart would suggest.

{You’ll find I’m quite capable of generosity when it suits. Will you spread your legs for me?} 

Gladio bit back a groan. {When you ask like that, how could I say no?} He let his head drop back to the pillow as he moved his legs apart, leaving a nice ‘V’ for Ignis to nestle between. Ignis chose to straddle one of his thighs instead, his hand seeking out the cleft between Gladio’s cheeks. Gladio felt a flush creep into his face as the slick pad of a finger brushed against his entrance, the touch light and exploratory.

{Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point.}

Impatience got the better of Gladio. {Iggy, I shove my own fingers up my asshole for fun… which you probably already knew… so just—}

His retort was lost as Ignis pressed that same finger inside him, gentle but insistent. Gladio forced himself to relax as he adjusted to the intrusion. When the sensation turned from foreign to familiar, Gladio parted his thighs a bit further, encouraging Ignis to go deeper.

Ignis fucking Gladio on his finger was… way better than his fantasies had indicated. The only sign that Ignis was even affected by it was the ragged sound of his breathing and the renewed, leaking hard-on resting on the back of Gladio’s thigh. He worked his finger in and out of Gladio with a slow thoroughness Gladio had come to expect.

_Too_ slow.

“More,” Gladio said. If he had leverage to rock his hips back towards Ignis, he would have.

{Are you in a hurry?} Ignis asked. Gladio could feel a second finger join the first the next time Ignis pushed his fingers inside his hole.

“I’ve waited long…” Gladio’s sentence cut off as Ignis brushed against his prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through his groin and precome dripping from his cock, “... long enough.”

{Have you? You’ve certainly turned me down enough times.} Ignis’s question was all innocence. He pressed his fingers against Gladio’s prostate each time he filled Gladio; if Gladio was hard before, he was _painfully_ hard now, his cock throbbing and leaking each time Ignis worked that spot deep inside him.

Gladio didn’t bother answering. He managed a moan as Ignis finally added a third finger, the stretch reaching a pleasant fullness that Gladio couldn’t usually manage on his own without some help from a toy. His face felt feverish as he buried it into the pillow, groaning again. His gasp as Ignis scissored his long fingers inside him was muffled by the fabric. 

“ _Ignis_.” The name was a jagged hiss through gritted teeth.

Ignis gave a sultry laugh and thrust in and out of Gladio a few more times. Once he let his fingers slip from Gladio’s hole, he moved from his position straddling Gladio’s thigh. Not long after, Gladio heard the rip of foil, the squirt of more lube, and the rhythmic flutter of a condom being rolled on.

{How do you want me?}

If Gladio’s face had felt feverish before, it was on fire now, cheeks burning. He thought about looking back at Ignis but decided better of it. Gladio rose up to his hands and knees. He spread his legs wider, arching his lower back, his ass exposed and feeling unbearably empty after having Ignis’s fingers inside it.

“Like this.”

{ _Gods._ } Ignis ran both of his hands all over the parts of Gladio’s body that he could reach, the sensation disappearing almost entirely when he touched Gladio’s augments. {This is how I wanted to take you in the observation lounge. It’s even better than I imagined… you’re magnificent, Gladio.}

“I know.” Thank any and all of the fucking gods Ignis couldn’t see his face. 

Ignis hummed. {I don’t believe you do…} The head of his cock nudged at Gladio’s asshole, slippery with lube. {But you will.} Then he was pushing in, filling Gladio, stretching him right to the point of burning, slow and torturous and amazing.

His head lolled between his arms once Ignis’s pelvis was flush with his own. He felt so goddamn _full_. Control, Gladio thought, control. Don’t break the bed. Don’t damage the fucking ship any more than you already have. He panted as he acclimated to Ignis’s cock, hands fisting in the soft sheets of his bunk as he scrambled for purchase, to anchor himself before he was lost altogether.

When Ignis began to move…

Ignis fucked the same way he did everything: with intent. Each roll of his hips was equally spaced apart, only giving Gladio an instant to feel empty before being filled again. On the one hand, he wished he could see Ignis’s face, but on the other hand, this was fucking _perfect_. Gladio screwed his eyes shut and grabbed at his bunk in a frantic motion as Ignis gradually increased his pace, thrusting harder, both of his hands gripping each side of Gladio’s waist. His hearing picked out relevant sounds in augmented high def: the obscene, wet squelch of Ignis’s cock sliding inside him, the sharp, harsh breaths they were both taking, and the thunder of his pulse in his ears.

Each time Ignis rocked into him, he brushed against Gladio’s prostate, an angle he assumed was intentional. Each nerve in his body was like a livewire, electric and singing. Gladio wanted harder, he wanted more, he wanted Ignis to fuck him as rough as he could take.

After all, Ignis wasn’t the only one who was difficult to break.

As though reading his thoughts, Ignis pistoned his hips faster, tight and smooth motions that came with the slap of skin against skin. The knowledge that it was _Ignis_ fucking him into the mattress—cool, calm, collected, devastating Ignis—only drove his desire higher. Gladio grunted as Ignis pounded into him, falling to his forearms to better brace himself, back arching even more. 

Gladio considered jerking himself off for all of an instant before doing away with the idea. He was dizzy and breathless, his thoughts scattered and his mind hazy. Control of his strength seemed like an idealistic goal. Gladio focused on the act of opening and closing his fists—anything to keep him from tearing the bunk apart. The black nanocarbonite of his augments reflected the light from Ignis’s, dazzling and distracting.

Despite his hesitation, Gladio wanted to be touched. His dick throbbed where it hung proud and erect between his legs, dripping onto the sheets and aching for attention.

{I need you to touch me, Ignis, _please_.}

Gladio could have wept with relief as Ignis took hold of his cock and stroked it in time with his thrusts. Someone without shitting reflex augments might have been more erratic, but Ignis stayed perfectly in sync, though his pace slowed somewhat. Each time Ignis buried his cock in Gladio’s ass, there was a matching upward stroke on his cock, and each time he withdrew, his hand moved down. 

His second orgasm surged within him with unexpected speed. It was too much, it was exactly enough, it was everything Gladio had wanted and more. Even if he had considered trying to last longer, there was no stopping the heat and pressure of his desire from fracturing his composure.

If the first time Gladio came had been an explosion, the second was a supernova, consuming him from the inside out.

Pleasure so intense that it was almost painful engulfed Gladio. He heard a loud _rip_ at the same time his cock began to pulse in Ignis’s hand, his come spilling in thick, white ropes onto the sheets below. Gladio’s body trembled with the aftershocks as Ignis continued to fuck him through it. He held himself upright by luck as opposed to any actual effort on his part—right now, in that instant, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and not move for hours.

Ignis had been mostly quiet since he first filled Gladio with his cock, presumably focused on chasing his own pleasure, but he made a breathy noise that fell between moan and sigh as he followed Gladio over the edge. Ignis snapped his hips hard, sheathing his cock to the hilt, and Gladio’s body rocked with the force of the thrust. A relieved groan echoed through Gladio’s quarters as Ignis held himself in place, cock pulsing as he came inside Gladio, his body slick with sweat in the spots where it met his own.

God _damn_.

Gladio looked down to find he’d ripped his pillow clean in half as he came; the two thick pieces of foam were covered in torn, fraying fabric and rested on opposite corners of the bunk. Were he not utterly sated and exhausted, he might have had the energy to laugh about it, but as things stood, all he could manage was one shuddering exhale as Ignis withdrew from him. The bunk dipped and rose with the removal of Ignis’s weight from its surface. Once he was gone, Gladio rolled over, away from the wet spot on the sheets to lay on his back, chest heaving. The pendant of his necklace was noticeably cooler than the surrounding skin where it rested against his sternum. 

His eyes were locked onto Ignis’s back as he tied off the condom and tossed it in the quarter’s disposal chute; the shimmering, blue-white augments turned even that simple, mundane act into a fantastical display.

Gladio thought Ignis would come back, sit down, catch his breath a little; when Ignis bent down, picked up his synthsuit off the ground, and began to dress with rapid efficiency, Gladio tried and failed to stop his heart from sinking into his stomach. He’d been hoping…

No. He hadn’t been hoping. Wherever that thought led… there was no point. Not when the odds of both of them making it back from this were so abysmally low. Best to leave it as a good fuck to relieve some stress and nothing more.

Not like Gladio was a stranger to duty taking precedence over his feelings, anyway. He thought of Nyx for an instant before shoving the thought away almost as quickly as it had come. Nyx was the last fucking thing he needed to be thinking of while thoroughly fucked out by Ignis, ass sore and limbs gelatinous.

Once he was dressed, Ignis retrieved his gloves from the end table and pulled them on, covering the last of his augments. He picked up his visor from Gladio’s desk but let it dangle from his fingers. {I’ll see you next shift.} An emotion Gladio couldn’t identify worked itself across Ignis’s immaculate features before they settled back to neutrality. {I believe there are a couple of spare pillows in the cargo bay… if Noctis hasn’t gotten to them first.}

“Yeah, I guess you will. And, uh, thanks.”

The doors closed behind Ignis as he left Gladio’s quarters without so much as another look.

What the _fuck_? He shouldn’t be surprised that sex was yet another thing Ignis could recover from with alarming alacrity, but… Gladio sighed and stared at the ceiling, physically satisfied but more confused than ever before. The chemistry and the flirtation had been palpable— _amazing_ —and then… nothing. Shut out. As absent as though it had been sucked into a black hole.

Again.

Once his body moved in the way he wanted it to—and once he was sure he wouldn’t run into Ignis in the communal washroom—Gladio pulled on his dirty slacks and a clean singlet. A lengthy, scorching shower would go a long way towards working the soreness from his limbs and Ignis from his thoughts, water rations be damned.

Gladio made sure to mute the entire Armiger network before he left his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your incredible patience while real life delayed this update. I hope you enjoyed! <3 I am lucky to have the best readers in town and am forever grateful for all the love and support y'all beam my way. 
> 
> In case you missed it, dear friend and reader Widget did some amazing artwork of Ignis's murder spree back in chapter 10. [Please go check it out on Tumblr here if you have some time and show her some love.](https://widget-2.tumblr.com/post/173893729452/operative-scientia-get-your-murder-on-artificial)
> 
> We'll be back with your regularly scheduled plot next update... probably. (; Hope to see you then!


	13. Rupture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio uncovers several pieces of new information as the team makes its way towards Altissia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the wonderful [@xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna) \- all remaining mistakes are mine.

On his off shift after his encounter with Ignis, Gladio decided to check his QCN text comms for the first time in weeks. He found several new messages in his inbox—most randomly generated spam due to the throwaway nature of his comm frequency—but some important ones. As soon as his eyes saw Nyx’s name, he tapped on the terminal in front of him to call up the message.

> **from:** n.ulric@coalition.mil  
>  **to:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **subject:** you never write, you never call
> 
> hey scarface
> 
> just checking to see if you’re still alive out there, yeah?
> 
> alright, that’s half a lie. your little blonde buddy has reassured me that my favourite grandpa cyborg is indeed alive and kicking, but i’d rather hear it from you. i know how stir crazy you start to get on the long, deep space treks. made any bad decisions yet? any progress with the ice prince? re-read any of those shitting poetry books? i’ll take anything.
> 
> can’t say much, especially over text comm, but thought you should know Crowe’s down for the count for a while. caught the business end of a ghostwalker’s knife and nearly bled out in front of us. thank fuck for modern medicine and being near civilization for a change, yeah? god damn fucking niffs are getting bold, that much i can say. they’re everywhere outside the PDS, sneaking in, crawling around like roaches, and just as damn hard to kill.
> 
> whatever you’re doing out there… wherever you’re going… i sure as fuck hope you’re ready to kick some ass, because we could use a win.
> 
> take care, LT.

Gladio stared at the terminal in his quarters, fingers hovering over the translucent input panel he’d called up after he finished reading Nyx’s message. He debated going out into the common room to initiate a QCN call, but he didn’t want to risk coming into close proximity with Ignis at the moment, so he began to type out a response.

> **from:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **to:** n.ulric@coalition.mil  
>  **subject:** Fuck off
> 
> Hey. Consider this your confirmation that I’m alive and well. Big shit coming up so I’ve been busy.
> 
> That’s fucked about Crowe. Glad she pulled through though. She’d punch you if I told you to give her my love, so tell her the next Niff I take out is for her. I think she’ll appreciate it more.
> 
> About my downtime… you know why they didn’t put you in a new unit? I know you’re sitting there saying ‘because I’m amazing on my own’ out loud to yourself, fucker, and that’s not it. It’s because you drive everyone as crazy with your need for gossip as deep space drives me crazy. I’m good, for now, and that’s all you’re getting. Shitting Astrals.
> 
> We’re days out from the objective, so I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to comm again. Try to keep the crazy shit to a minimum. I’m not there to keep your ass in line, after all.
> 
> G

After hitting send, Gladio tapped on the terminal to select the next unread message.

> **from:** littlemoogle13@private.res  
>  **to:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **subject:** miss you
> 
> I’m sorry I keep missing your QCN calls and I know I probably shouldn’t be messaging you from this account but Dad told me one message would be okay so I hope you’re not too mad at me because I sent it. Whew. ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰
> 
> You’ve always told me how brave I am and I’m trying to be brave, cross my heart and hope to die, but things are actually getting scary here. I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen Dad in the last month, and Jared’s face is pinched together like a prune all the time. There’s still school in VR for now, but Jared said they might cancel that too, something about martial law. 
> 
> I feel so useless, and I’m worried about you all the time, and... I don’t know. I was looking on the ‘Net for info about signing up for the Academy. I’m sixteen in two months, same age as you were when you enrolled, but I heard they’re letting you join early now. I don’t want to sit at home and do nothing, and I’m in pretty good shape already, and let’s face it, anything you can do, I can do. ε-(‘ﾍ´○)┓ Ok, well, most anything. The real trick will be getting Dad to let me… or to somehow do it without him knowing.
> 
> If I can help, I want to help, so don’t try to change my mind. I don’t get the point of pretending like everything’s normal when my whole family is off fighting and we’re all hiding behind the Wall and the PDS. (The Wall is up now too, which is how everyone _knows_ it’s getting bad, even if the vidfeeds are full of shit.)
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to tell you before I did it. If it works out, I might not be able to contact you a lot… or at all… so in case I can’t, I love you so much. Dad sends his love too, and wherever you are, we’re thinking of you.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Moogs
> 
> P.S. I can already see your face turning red - don’t even think about lecturing me about this!! You have no room to talk!!!! ヾ(*｀⌒´*)ﾉ

Gladio leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, the metal creaking under his augmented weight, and folded his arms over his chest. Of all the fucking news his little sister could have given him… her enlisting in the Academy would have been the last shitting thing he predicted. On the one hand, yeah, anger and disbelief were definitely the dominant emotions he struggled to contain. Rather than directing the anger at Iris, he found his anger streaking in the direction of Lucis, of the entire goddamn Coalition, of the unfairness of the whole shitting war.

On the other…

On the other, Iris was right. He had zero fucking room to talk. It was nice to have these idyllic concepts floating around in his head, the dreams that this impossible batshit mission would work out, that everyone would make it out alive, that he and Iris and his father would be able to live out the rest of their days in peace.

The pragmatic parts of Gladio, the ones steeped in blood and war, the ones reborn (rebuilt) to bathe in more of the same, recognized those daydreams for what they were—fantasy.

Gladio took a calming breath and began to type out his reply.

> **from:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **to:** littlemoogle13@private.res  
>  **subject:** no lecture here
> 
> Hey Moogs. Are you ever gonna run out of surprises? Tell you what—you figure out a way to go over Dad’s head, and you get my full fuckin approval to enlist. Am I happy about it? No. Hell no. If I were back home, you’d be in the shit for sure.
> 
> But the truth is I’m not back home, and I can’t do a damn thing. If the sitrep… situation is as bad as you say, there are two shitty choices: for you to hide or for you to fight. And, well, you’re an Amicitia, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised which one you wanna do.
> 
> If you do… it’s hard, Moogs. Ain’t everyone as nice as Dad and me in the Coalition forces, and they’re gonna break you and put you back together, especially with the rush to get cadets in fighting shape. I hope you at least think about it some more before doing anything. Jared might have a heart attack, so if you want my brotherly advice, I wouldn’t ask for his help in this.
> 
> Just… fuck, Moogs, I wish it hadn’t come to this. You were right about one thing in your comm, though. You ARE brave and strong, and if you actually wanna go through with this, I know you’ll give it your all. I’m gonna be worried sick even more than I already am, but…

Gladio paused. He’d been about to type _I don’t want my last words to you to be giving you shit_ , but those words made the scenario all too real, so he highlighted the sentence with his finger and deleted it before continuing.

> You know I always worry about you. Can’t help it, it’s my duty as older brother.
> 
> I don’t know how much I’ll be able to comm from now on, so right back at you on the ‘thinking of you’ part. I love you, Moogs. Do your best, and whatever you end up doing, know that my loves goes with you.
> 
> Love,
> 
> G

Gladio reread over the message one more time, gave another deep sigh, and tapped the button to send it. After the comm had been fired off, he selected the option to compose a new message.

> **from:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **to:** n.ulric@coalition.mil  
>  **subject:** a favor to ask
> 
> Ulric,
> 
> Since you know motherfucking everyone, can you keep your ear to the ground for new enlistments? My sister got the in her head to enroll as a cadet, and I think she might actually be shitting serious. I ain’t gonna beg because that’s not my style, but… please?
> 
> G

Barely a minute after Gladio hit send on the message, an alert for a new comm popped up on his terminal.

> **from:** n.ulric@coalition.mil  
>  **to:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **subject:** ballsy, LT
> 
> hey scarface
> 
> thanks for letting me know you haven’t kicked the bucket out there. well, kicked it again, yeah? hah.
> 
> crazy fuckery runs in the amicitia line, huh? i’ll do my best to keep an eye out for your sis. they’re keeping us all local for the most part, so it shouldn’t be too hard. let’s hope she’s a better listener than another amicitia cadet i once knew if she does show.
> 
> stay safe.

It wasn’t much—and it wasn’t nearly as much as Gladio wished he could do—but the knowledge that Nyx would be on the lookout for Iris made him relax a fraction. It was nice to know, however many light years away they were from Lucis at this point, Gladio could still count on someone back home. Before he could start thinking too long or too hard about Nyx, Gladio navigated back to the home page of the terminal, reopening the QCN comm screen to deal with his last unread message.

His heart lurched in one desperate motion when he saw who the message was from.

> **from:** sagefire@anon.me  
>  **to:** henruit@anon.me  
>  **subject:** Clarification

The spark of outrage Iris’s message had ignited burst into a full fledged flame, as persistent and bright as the self-reacting light source Crowe had gifted him before he left Lucis. Leave it to fucking Ignis to send a goddamn _comm_ message to discuss… whatever it was he wanted to talk about. Gladio didn’t personally think there was much to talk about, given the fact that Ignis may as well have slapped a shitting credit chit on his end table after they fucked, but as always, Ignis’s motivations were impossible to figure out.

Gladio mashed the delete key without reading the remainder of the message. If Ignis had something to say to him, he could say it to his fucking face or not at all.

* * *

By the time his next shift on the bridge with Ignis arrived, Gladio had almost forgotten about the message.

Almost.

Gladio didn’t bother with fastening all the securing mechanisms at the weapons terminal as he took his place at his station. It’d been dead quiet in this quadrant, but it was a tense quiet nevertheless, the kind that crept up Gladio’s spine and filled his veins with apprehension. He went through the motions of checking the Regalia’s status, navigating through the various menus available to him at his terminal, ensuring there were no alerts or abnormalities they’d have to address.

He made a point of not looking at Ignis sitting at the pilot’s station, because the simple act of looking at Ignis had the tendency to create an opening, yawning chasm inside Gladio that could only be filled with more of him.

Shit. Shitfuck. He was supposed to be _pissed_ , damn it, or at the very least neutral, not waxing fucking poetic less than 24 standard hours after Ignis made his stance _abundantly_ clear.

Whatever his feelings were, however complicated they might be, there wasn’t time to sort them out. Ignis had had the right idea—keep it physical. Nothing more, nothing less. As soon as the thought crossed through Gladio’s mind, he remembered a handful of sensations all at once: the weight of Ignis as he carried him across the common area, the texture of Ignis’s myriad scars beneath his fingertips, the mesmerizing beauty of his body _and_ his augments, the taste of his come spreading across Gladio’s tongue, the intense pleasure as he’d filled Gladio with his cock.

Maybe it had been a worse idea than he’d thought to give in to his desire for the guarded Operative. Couldn’t have given him the options to turn off his hormones with all the upgrades, Gladio guessed.

Hours passed in empty silence, punctuated only by soft, trilling beeps from their stations and the hum of the air recycler throughout the spacious bridge. They were a standard week away from Accordo, from Altissia, from phase one of their mission that represented the last chance for the Coalition to achieve intergalactic peace. A week away and Gladio still hadn’t figured out what exactly his teammates were capable of, or talked to Noct about his mysterious visions from LUNAFREYA, or done… _anything_ that he should have done as a commanding officer, such as he was.

It was unusual for Gladio to allow his focus to fracture so thoroughly, and he resolved that from here on out, it wouldn’t happen again. No one, least of all Gladio, could afford it.

“Did you receive my message?” The question came out of nowhere, seven syllables destroying the silence that had permeated their shift.

As soon as Gladio made up his mind to double down and focus on the mission, Ignis, of fucking course, had other plans.

“Yup.” No more, no less, and definitely not a glance in Ignis’s direction.

“Did you _read_ it?” Ignis pressed.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

A sudden, warm rush of anger flooded Gladio in a physical sensation not unlike standing under the flash dryer after a shower. “Because I didn’t think there was anything to clarify, and even if there was, I didn’t want to fuckin’ read it in a comm message.”

He would _not_ look at Ignis. Gladio stared resolutely down at the terminal in front of him, going through the motions of a systems check he’d done at the start of his shift.

“I would have appreciated the courtesy of reading the message, at least, even if you didn’t agree with its contents,” Ignis said, and yeah, there was that Operative Scientia, all stern ice and clipped accent.

 _I would have appreciated if you hadn’t fucked me and left me like an outer moon whore, but hey, we can’t all get what we want._ “You sure you wanna go down this road?” Gladio asked instead, impressed with himself for sounding far more calm than his pulse and churning gut would suggest.

“No.”

One word, spoken so quietly that Gladio thought he might have imagined it, drew his attention like a gravitational pull. He broke his own rule, the one where he wasn’t supposed to look at Ignis, and found Ignis sitting with his hands folded neatly in his lap, staring past the pilot’s station and out into the empty expanse of space.

“Wanna elaborate?” Gladio asked.

“I did elaborate. In the message.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Gladio growled, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. He stood from the weapon’s terminal and stomped over to the pilot’s chair, his footfalls heavier than he intended. “If you have something to say, spit it the fuck out, because I don’t have the shitting patience to play games.”

How Gladio could still be struck by the brilliant green of Ignis’s eyes at a moment like this was beyond him, but they transfixed him all the same from behind the shield of Ignis’s visor. {It’s complicated,} Ignis said simply, blinking slowly as he maintained eye contact with Gladio.

“What isn’t?” Gladio asked. When Ignis stayed silent, Gladio waved a hand around in a circle, encouraging Ignis to speak. “I ain’t gonna ask again, Iggy.”

{This…} Ignis began, pausing to swing his long legs over the pilot’s chair in a graceful arc, standing afterwards. His lips parted and closed before pressing together in a thin line, brows drawn low on his face. {I find myself in a situation I wasn’t prepared for, and I am doing my very best to navigate it, but mistakes are to be expected.}

“And what situation would that be?” Gladio asked, arms folded over his chest, considering.

Ignis turned towards the viewpane, giving Gladio a view of his chiseled profile, his strong nose and high cheekbones as attractive as they’d ever been despite recent developments. {I care for you, Gladio, in a way I haven’t cared for anyone else. I have no frame of reference, no basis for comparison, so I’ll thank you in advance for your forgiveness for any missteps.}

 _What?_ Gladio intended to say, but the words came out in a splutter, his jaw slack. It was… fuck, it was as close to a serious apology as Ignis has ever given him, and it soothed the seething irritation in his chest. It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t—or at least, Gladio thought he didn’t fucking want it to—but there it was.

 _I care for you_.

{I care about you too,} Gladio said, unconsciously slipping into the Armiger, {but you make it real fuckin’ difficult for a guy when you do shit like give him the dicking down of a lifetime, and then run off minutes after.}

{That’s a rather crass way of phrasing it,} Ignis said.

{Is it _wrong?_ } Gladio shot back.

{I suppose not,} Ignis said begrudgingly, a rare dusting of pink colouring his cheeks.

Gladio reached out and placed his hands on Ignis’s waist, prompting Ignis to make eye contact with him once more. He took a step closer to Ignis, closing the distance, studying Ignis’s expression for any minute change. It was a gamble—sometimes, everything regarding Ignis felt like a gamble, like a spin of the slots and a prayer that this time would be the lucky one—but it was one Gladio was willing to take.

{For someone who has ‘no frame of reference’, I didn’t have many complaints the other night. Well, aside from the one I mentioned.}

{Do you require an explanation of the difference between casual sex and relationships?} Ignis asked, arching an eyebrow up at Gladio, his gloved palms resting flat against Gladio’s chest.

{So now it’s a relationship?}

{I’m not certain what else you’d call… the state of affairs between us,} Ignis said, sliding his hands up Gladio’s chest until they rested on his shoulders.

{Iggy, I…} Gladio exhaled harshly and tightened his grip on Ignis’s waist. {I don’t know what this is, and I don’t know that either of us have time to figure it out right now, not with Altissia looming. There’s so much fucking shit to do.}

{Agreed.} The way Ignis murmured the word in Gladio’s head, the weight of his arms looped around Gladio’s neck, the heat of his body pressed against him… if he didn’t know better, he’d say Ignis was doing it on purpose, but even if he was, Gladio had no complaints. {We should focus on preparations for our arrival at Accordo.}

Gladio leaned down and pressed his lips to Ignis’s before he could tell himself not to, relishing in the contact, pleased at the way Ignis yielded instantly to the pressure of his tongue. They broke for air and kissed again, mouths slotted together in perfect unity, and the rest of Gladio’s anger melted away, replaced with a desire that felt like second nature now, brought to life by the scent and taste and feel of Ignis.

{If we both make it off Accordo in one piece,} Gladio began, mouth occupied as he explored the searing heat of Ignis’s with his tongue, {maybe it’d be worth laying out some ground rules.}

{I find guidelines to be exceedingly helpful.}

{You would,} Gladio said, hands dipping down to cup Ignis’s ass through the slacks of his suit and giving it a firm yet careful squeeze.

Ignis’s response was a quiet, subdued groan into Gladio’s mouth, and then there was no more conversation—not with words, anyway.

* * *

“Oh my _god_ ,” Prompto exclaimed, his eyes rolling back into his head, “this _has_ to be the best thing we’ve eaten since we’ve left. How did you even make this taste so good, Gladio? Every time I fix any of the freeze dried stuff, it kinda tastes like the gritty cleaning powder I use to clean my guns.”

“How do you know what that tastes like?” Noct asked quietly from beside Prompto, a skeptical expression on his face.

“Science, dude. Gotta use all five senses,” Prompto answered with a wink, piercings glinting in the fluorescent light overhead. 

“You get stuck out in deep space long enough, you learn to get creative,” Glado explained, skipping over Prompto’s dubious chemical consumption altogether. “Feel like I’m handier in the mess hall of a ship than I am in a kitchen back on Lucis.”

“It certainly doesn’t go unappreciated,” Ignis added, and if he didn’t quite smile when he said it, it was close enough for Gladio’s comfort.

The real reason Gladio had volunteered to fix some sort of meal that didn’t involve nutrient paste, freeze dried protein, and lukewarm water was getting everyone to plan for Altissia. A stomach full of good food tended to up morale enough for his soldiers to focus, and he figured he couldn’t go wrong with that tactic here. Ignis had assured him the Regalia’s autopilot was top notch, and Noct and Prompto seemed engaged enough, so it was time to get some work done. Six standard days until their arrival meant it was crunch time.

“Iggy, you wanna hit the model?” Gladio asked. “I can talk while you guys finish eating.”

Ignis pushed a button on the portable comp station he’d brought to the table. After he did, a translucent, three dimensional map of Accordo came to life above the small disk that served as the comp station. Gladio reached out with both hands and manipulated the map until he zoomed in on their landing zone, one of the several manmade, floating islands that spanned the surface of Accordo.

“We’re lucky enough to have a connection thanks to His Majesty, so Maagho will serve as our LZ,” Gladio explained, tapping a point on the map to mark the area with a bright green flag. “Our instructions with Weskham were to avoid communication unless something would keep the itinerary from proceeding as planned, and we haven’t heard from him, so we can assume Maagho is still green for now.”

“What about getting through Accordo’s port authority?” Noct asked, head tilted to one side.

“I’ve spent a considerable amount of time constructing another false set of credentials for us after Coernix,” Ignis said, turning to the side to study Noctis from behind his visor. “The previous authorization was flagged with a bulletin issued for our apprehension, and while I wasn’t able to remove it entirely, I was able to change the description of the ship, so I’m confident we’ll be able to get past the port authority.”

“What he said,” Gladio echoed, pointing at Ignis before returning his attention to the map. “Maagho has its own teleporters to Altissia, so as far as getting down there, we’re set. Getting back up… that’s gonna depend on how things go once we’re in the city proper.” 

“Is the Imperial fleet’s progress still the same?” Prompto asked, fork dangling from his fingers.

“As far as the last reports I was able to receive, yes. We’re still ahead of General Nox Fleuret’s fleet by a considerable margin, but the quicker we’re able to complete our objective, the better,” Ignis said. “My preference would be for us to be long gone before the fleet ever arrives at Accordo.”

“Obviously,” Noct said with a snort, earning himself a sharp glance from Ignis.

With a few taps, Gladio changed the map to one of Altissia, all the nooks and crannies of the underwater city rendered in as much detail as the comp station was capable of. “Iggy’s uploaded this map to all of our neurolinks, so you don’t need to memorize it, but as soon as we arrive, we’re comming Stella and heading for the rendezvous point. Those of who have armor are storing it in the Armiger, but we’re going in unarmored at first. If shit hits the fan, well…”

“How’re we gonna get our armor on if things go that badly?” Noct asked.

“We? You ain’t got shit, Princess, and as for the rest of us, you’re just gonna have to trust that we have a lot of practice,” Gladio answered with a lift of his eyebrows.

“Why _don’t_ I have armor?” Noct pressed.

“Your Crownsguard uniform has more armor built in than the rest of ours,” Ignis inserted smoothly, “and given your skill with quantum phasing and the fact that you have three highly trained individuals dedicated to your safety… you shouldn’t be in danger.”

Noct looked unimpressed, but Gladio didn’t have time to deal with any skepticism on his part. “Once we get the… whatever it is we’re getting from Stella, exactly—”

“They key to Luna’s sanctuary,” Noctis supplied.

“Right,” Gladio said, “once we get the key, it’s straight back to the teleporters that beam to Maagho, back to the Regalia, and out of orbit ASAP.”

“Given Accordo’s neutrality agreement with the Niflheim Empire, there are likely to be Imperial forces posted in Altissia. If we find ourselves involved in combat, we should do our best to minimize civilian casualties, but the ultimate goal is to get Noctis and the key safely offworld,” Ignis added.

“Any questions?” Gladio asked, looking around at the group in turn. When he was met with silence, he nodded. “Okay. Speaking of combat… I need more fuckin’ details on what all of you can do. Coernix gave me a pretty good idea, but if we’re trying to work as a tight knit unit, it would help to have your abilities laid out.”

“I’m happy to answer any questions on my combat capabilities,” Ignis said, back straight and electronic lights scrolling across the internal HUD in his eyes.

“I think I’m good there. Noct? Prompto?” Gladio prompted, leaning forward on the table, bracing himself on his elbows.

“I mean, what can’t I do, really?” Prompto said with a grin, flexing his tattooed arms. “If you want, like, an exhaustive list of all my guns and their specs, I have it memorized. Although actually, it might be easier if I comm’d it to you? That’s not classified, right? We can start with Coeurl, I guess, since she’s one of my—”

“I was thinking more about things outside the hardware. I noticed your stamina on Coernix, but I was curious about the disappearing act you pulled on the station,” Gladio interrupted.

“Oh, that! Yeah, that’s my severance pay from the Empire, I guess. Wasn’t gonna go returning the personal cloaking device after defecting, y’know what I’m saying?” Prompto offered with a bright grin, lip rings flashing.

Were it not for the sudden, awkward silence that descended on the common room like a tangible force, it might have taken Gladio a few moments longer to make the connection. As it stood, however, Prompto’s words connected several pieces of information with all the finality of a death sentence. The fact that he’d seen a Dauntless and lived to talk about it, the way Ignis had cut him off when he’d tried to explain, His Majesty’s standoffish demeanor at their debriefing back on Lucis, his flawless Empyrean, his assumption that Coernix would have teleporters…

“You’re a fucking Niff.” The words sounded flat and hollow to Gladio’s ears.

Prompto chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his blonde head with one hand. “Was. I _was_ a former citizen of the Niflheim Empire, but I have very much renounced all ties to my former planet of residence, thank you very much.” 

“You’re not _just_ a Niff,” Gladio continued, heedless of Prompto’s explanation, “you’re a Ghostwalker. You’re a goddamn handpicked _assassin_.”

{Gladio…} Ignis said inside his head, cautious, careful, like he was talking down an unstable hostage instead of talking to a trusted teammate.

Until he heard the crash, Gladio hadn’t realized he’d stood, hadn’t realized he’d unhinged the common room’s table from its gravitational couplings and thrown it across the floor like it weighed nothing at all. Shattered glass, spattered food, and large chunks of the broken furniture littered the floor. Gladio stood panting, his fury battering down the barriers of his self control like an orbital volley, rage threatening to overtake him with each passing moment.

“When exactly,” Gladio said, voice thick and burning hot with suppressed indignation, “was anyone planning to tell me that I was sharing a fucking ship with a goddamn, motherfucking _Niff_?”

Noctis had moved to stand in front of Prompto, Lucis Caelum eyes blazing magenta, one hand flung in front of Prompto, like that would actually fucking stop Gladio if he got the idea to start something. “We were going to tell you before we left, but the timeline got pushed up, and then it didn’t seem as important.”

“Didn’t seem important?” Gladio asked. “Didn’t seem _important_? You realize this fucker has definitely killed my fellow soldiers? That he might have killed my friends? That I’ve spent my whole entire shitting life dedicated to wiping his kind off the face of the fucking galaxy?” He jabbed a finger in Prompto’s direction, the leash on his temper frayed nearly to breaking. “Someone better speak up with a real good reason for keeping this from me in the next five seconds.”

Ignis positioned himself in front of Gladio, blocking his path to Noctis. “Gladio, if you’d allow me to explain...”

“It’s a little fucking late for explanations,” Glado snarled, enmity pumping through his veins with every pounding beat of his heart. “Those would have been good before I ever fucking agreed to leave Lucis.”

When Noct summoned the swirling, pale blue power of the Armiger around him, eyes still glowing, Gladio let the full force of his temper wash over him in all its brutality.

He lunged for Noct, a growl tearing itself out of his throat. Noct must have thought Gladio wouldn’t go for it, because Gladio got a handful of Noct’s shoulders, shoving him and sending him spiraling amid the debris covering the common room. As soon as Noct came to a stop, Gladio saw the telltale flash of a phase and braced himself for impact; sure enough, Noct thudded into him, raw power swirling around his body, but Gladio batted him aside with next to no effort at all.

“You wanna fuckin’ go? Let’s go! Tech or no, I could beat your ass all the way to the next quadrant!” Gladio said—yelled, his voice loud to his augmented hearing—drawing himself up to his full height, lips drawn back in a grimace.

“ _Enough!_ ” Ignis snapped, eyes locked to Gladio’s. “Control your temper, Gladio, or I will control it for you.”

Gladio burst out into bitter laughter, his entire body aflame with rage, burning away any rational thought. “Control it for me? I’d sure as fuck like to see you try, _Iggy_. You don’t have all your shitting secrets as an advantage now,” Gladio spat in Ignis’s direction.

“Do not test me on this point. I will protect His Highness with my life,” Ignis said, and for all the chill in the words, Gladio could sense the displeasure underneath the words, felt his own fury rising to meet it.

“Oh, sure, because his is the only life that matters. Fuck the guy you dragged back from the dead, the guy you _all_ hid shit from, the guy you expect to just take everything in fucking stride. If you wanted me to be an android, to be controlled,” Gladio roared, stalking towards Ignis, “you should have fucking made me one!”

If Ignis felt any fear, he concealed it with all the expertise at his disposal. “You will remove yourself from this situation until you’re in full possession of your faculties.”

“You’re fuckin’ right I’m gonna remove myself. I’m gonna remove myself, and if I so much as _see_ any of you, or _hear_ any of you, or have _any_ of you inside my fucking head before we’re in Accordo’s orbit, I won’t be so shitting generous! I don’t care if it’s a life or death fuckin’ emergency—figure it out without me!”

Gladio didn’t wait for any response, because frankly, he wasn’t interested in hearing any of it anyway. As he stomped away from the common room and towards the cargo bay, he punched an empty section of wall in the corridor as hard as he could, augments clanging against the metal of the interior. The Regalia must have been made of stronger stuff than he thought, because his efforts only yielded a large crater instead of a hole clean through it. He gave it a few more punches for good measure, widening the imperfection, before continuing onto the cargo bay.

He was angry. He was _pissed_. Every single injustice he’d put aside had resurrected from the graves he’d buried them in, and they were just as furious as when he’d tried to lay them to rest. With the last scraps of his rationality, he muted the Armiger and stormed through the automatic doors to the cargo bay.

When Gladio’s gaze fell on a stack of huge, empty cargo crates waiting to be offloaded, he grinned, wild and feral. Once he was within reach of them, he took the top crate, lifting the ninety kilo metal like it weighed nothing at all and hurling it in a random direction. It smashed against the wall with a satisfying crunch, the metal curling in on itself like a dying butterfly. Several more crates followed the first, all of them condensing in a broken, twisted pile, as fractured and ugly as Gladio’s composure.

For good measure, Gladio crossed the distance to the pile of metal and delivered a flurry of blows to it, bellowing as the damaged crates crumpled further under the force of his fists. His anger scorched all other emotion from him, the intense pressure in his chest vented with every hit landed against the objects around him.

When he could finally breathe again, when the rage had abated enough for his vision to return, when his throat was raw from the effort of screaming, Gladio surveyed the damage. The pile of crates had been reduced to a folded pile of metal, pounded into submission by several fist shaped dents, and nearby tables and supplies had been caught up in the whirlwind of force, scattered across the cargo bay in haphazard patterns.

In the deafening silence that followed the outburst, he heard every drop of blood from his sliced palm landing on the floor like a gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. <3 Thank you for your patience with this update—real life (yay, I am employed) and other creative pursuits demanded my time, but we should be back in the swing of things now.
> 
> If you missed it, dear friend of the story Widget did an AMAZING piece with [Lieutenant Amicitia and Operative Scientia that you can find here. There are butts. You have been warned.](https://widget-2.tumblr.com/post/175606973522/lieutenant-amicitia-x-operative-scientia)
> 
> The talented ggcummings also created some [FANTASTIC art of our resident cyborgs getting it on, which you can find here - NSFW, obviously!](https://byggcummings.tumblr.com/post/175864280393/at-least-they-were-on-the-same-page-about)
> 
> As for me, well, feel free to come chat on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra). See you next update! <3


	14. Piecemeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio navigates his situation hours before touching down on Accordo.

Destroying half the cargo bay in a fit of rage only abated Gladio’s anger temporarily. Each time his thoughts turned to the events leading up to his current position, his fury grew, a self-replicating chemical reaction of the most insidious kind.

He’d managed to comm Nyx once, and it had helped… but not nearly enough.

Gladio’s next option amounted to staying busy.

He prepped and re-prepped his armor, calibrated his weapons well enough to please good old CO Drautos, reviewed all emergency procedures and contingency plans, submitted all his mandatory reports on the Regalia’s weaponry with exacting detail, and even had time left over to review the private database of dossiers on Imperial individuals of note.

All the while, his head stayed quiet, empty of the voices and chatter that had been constant since Ignis had connected him to the Armiger Network back on Lucis.

When Gladio bothered to venture out of his quarters, the rest of the crew gave him a wide berth, Prompto most of all, which was fantastic as far as Gladio was concerned. The few times he saw Noct around the Regalia, he was accompanied by Ignis, and the change in routine never failed to rouse Gladio’s anger, thick and roiling in his gut.

Like he would fucking _seriously_ go after the one inexperienced, coddled, privileged guy their whole mission counted on, even if he wasn’t the Crown Prince of the entire Lucian Coalition.

_Control your temper, Gladio, or I will control it for you._

Gladio rested the metal bar of the weight rack above his head before he bent it clean in half. Breathing through his nose, he counted down from twenty with excruciating slowness, willing himself to make his breaths steady and even, a feat made more difficult by said temper rousing inside him like recurring sickness and the pressure created by the gravity enhancer. 

He’d asked Ignis for trust, and he’d gotten threats. He’d said if they were going to do anything about the attraction between them, there couldn’t be secrets, not when they might be at the end of the universe as they knew it, but there seemed to be no end to Ignis’s secrets… to him acting like he knew Gladio better than Gladio knew himself. 

And yet…

It didn’t erase the times Ignis had been patient with him, didn’t negate the secret grins and knowing glances, didn’t change the fact that, whether or not Gladio _liked_ his reasons, he’d clearly had a hand in giving Gladio his second chance (though how much of a hand Gladio still didn’t know). It _really_ couldn’t make him forget their physical chemistry, how they fit together like two halves of a whole… or how they would, if Ignis would ever let them.

The anger bled into a more manageable emotion, a mixture of annoyance and regret and longing and betrayal for which there was no word in either language Gladio knew. Satisfied that he wouldn’t damage the training room equipment—no getting a replacement, not this far out into the black—Gladio resumed his workout, redirecting his focus to the mission at hand.

He finished the rest of his bench press sets and had moved on to squats when the electronic chime of the room’s comm sounded.

“Fuck off!” Gladio had no idea who was on the other side of the door, but whoever it was, he didn’t want to talk to them, not until they were in Accordo’s orbit and it was go time. He ignored the tiny flicker of hope that it might be Ignis, apology in tow, dismissing it as a flight of fancy.

When the doors opened and _Prompto_ walked through them, Gladio nearly dropped all 600kg worth of weights he was holding.

“Get out of here.” Serious, his previous COs had called him in their recommendations for promotion, and fucking Six, was he serious now. Gladio narrowed his eyes as he set the bar back on the heavily fortified rack, turning back around to level his best glower at Prompto.

“No,” Prompto said, almost as seriously, only the slightest waver to his voice. His tattooed hands plucked at his vest—nervous tic—but he held Gladio’s gaze, ultraviolet eyes wide and steady.

“You’ve got some kind of balls showing your face. This is your last warning: _get out_.”

Contrary to Gladio’s demand, Prompto began walking towards him, one slow step at a time. “Afraid I can’t do that, buddy. No one’s trying to fix this mess, so I, kind soul that I am, have taken it upon myself to try and patch up this demagnetized photon chamber myself. Figure you’re probably pretty mad at all of us, but most of all me, so…”

“You’re goddamn right I’m pissed,” Gladio growled, flexing his hands against his thighs, struggling to keep the sudden surge of emotion at bay. “Trust me, if anyone bothered to tell me I’d have a fuckin’ Niff on my team, I’d be taking my chances back on Lucis instead of on this insane, suicidal mission, so I’d suggest you get the fuck out of my face.”

“Honestly…” Prompto started, holding up his hands in appeasement. “I totally get that, man. I’m _really_ used to people having bad reactions when they find out my whole sordid history, especially with the whole ‘part of the Crown Prince’s personal guard’ thing, y’know? I mean, it helped when I volunteered for this mission, but you know what they say about no good deed goes unpunished, right?”

Shock muted Gladio’s pending fury. “You _volunteered?_ ” 

“Of course I did. Where Noct goes, I go. I mean, I think legally I _have_ to, but…” Prompto lifted a slim shoulder in a shrug, piercings flashing in the fluorescent lights as he grinned. “I’d do it anyway.”

“So you have a death wish.”

“Nah, I’m over that phase of my life. Suicidal ideation is out, suicidal missions are the mood now. And… oh, shit, you have the grav generator set to bone crushing. I’m just gonna…” Prompto sank to the ground, sitting cross legged with his back straight, hovering right on the edge of the gravity field. “There we go.”

Gladio could only describe his current state as incredulous. In the past or no, one of his sworn enemies was perched two meters away, settled in for a nice chat just before touching down on the first leg of their insane journey. “What the fuck do you want, Prompto?”

Prompto ticked points off on his fingers as he spoke. “New guns. A bazillion credits. Galactic peace. A copy of _Justice Monsters XXX_ , mostly because I can’t believe they’re still making video games in the middle of a giant war. Love everlasting. Right now, though…” He paused, his expression shuttering closed, more serious than Gladio had seen it. “Right now, I want you to let me have it.”

“You want to fight? Here? Now?” Gladio asked flatly. He couldn’t believe he was actually humoring this bullshit, but as much as it annoyed the hell out of him, some subatomic particle of him respected Prompto’s refusal to leave.

“Uh, _metaphorically_ let me have it,” Prompto clarified. “You wanna insult me? Insult me. I’ve heard it all and more. You have questions? I’ll answer anything. I…” Prompto trailed off, chewing on his lower lip. “Look, I know how it feels to be the odd man out, trust me, and I’m getting the vibe you might be feeling like you’re in that spot right now.”

“You don’t say.”

Prompto chuckled. “Yeah, okay, that was dumb. But seriously…” He spread his arms out, palms up. “I’m an unencrypted, public access database. Whatever you feel like you need to say or hear to get this team back on track, I’ve got you.”

“How many Coalition members have you murdered?” The question left Gladio’s mouth without him consciously deciding on the words.

“204, before I switched sides. I didn’t… I didn’t count them or anything gross, our handlers just kept track of our performance that way.”

“Performance.” Gladio felt both empty and overwhelmingly full, rage swirling like a Leidan fire devil around the blank space in his chest. “You call murdering Coalition soldiers, people with lives and families, performance.”

“Sorry.” Prompto winced. “It’s… it’s only been a few years since I defected, and sometimes I jumble up the right words in my head. _They_ called it performance. Slaves don’t get pay, but it meant better food, better assignments, better drugs… all the fun bells and whistles they use to keep you compliant, I guess.”

Slave. Gladio’s mind hooked on the word, and as it tumbled around inside his head, the ferocity of his emotion calmed. “Thought you were Niff born. You look it.”

“I was. The extra special fun part of the Imperial Empire is not even their own people are exempt from the super cool slavery gig they’ve got going. Born to a family of a low enough status and _jackpot_! You’ve earned yourself a one way ticket to being conscripted into indentured servitude.” 

Gladio stalled for time by standing from his seat on the weight bench and going over to the artificial grav generator, switching it off. Shitting Astrals. He… Gladio sighed even as he felt the bulk of his self-righteous anger slip like waterproofed fatigues through his fingers.

“Slavery doesn’t excuse what you did.”

Prompto laughed, an honest to Six laugh, at Gladio’s words. “Yeah, trust me, buddy, I’m _well aware_ of that. I might have done what I needed to do to survive, ‘cause trust me, everyone who’s anyone in the grip of the Empire will, but it doesn’t magically unmurder my murdering. The only thing that could do that is a time machine, and as spectacular as time travel would be, we haven’t figured it out yet, soooo…”

He hadn’t expected such a frank admission from Prompto, Prompto who sang songs over the Armiger and threatened to perform science experiments on Gladio (among others) and who treated his guns like living pets instead of mechanical objects. He leaned against the wall, considering Prompto—wiry muscle, tattoos, piercings, looking more like a conscription dodger than a famed Ghostwalker. He wanted to be pissed, and to stay pissed, but…

“Good. At least you realize that much.” Gladio pushed off the wall and made to move past the sitting Prompto, heading for the exit. Before he was halfway there, Prompto called to him.

“Hey… you know, no one really mentions the other side of it.”

Gladio looked over his shoulder. “What other side?”

“The Coalition side. I’m sure you’ve murdered a lot of twatbags, don’t get me wrong, and I don’t really count MTs because they’re 100% synthetic, but… there were people like me mixed in too, I bet.”

“I’d choose your next words very carefully, Prompto.” Adrenaline flooded Gladio’s system, his fight or flight response ramping up into full gear.

“I’m not trying to put blame on anyone. I’m just saying… war is fucked up, man. Just because they made you like, sign a bunch of official paperwork the first time you enlisted, and made you into the Coalition’s first successful post-death cyborg reconstruction project the second time, good people get caught in the crossfire. You, me, the people we might end up fighting and killing along the way… none of us have half as much choice as we think we do.”

“If I’m hearing what I think I’m hearing,” Gladio began, turning back towards Prompto, “you’re sayin’ we’re just as bad as the _Niffs_? That _I’m_ just as bad as the Niffs?”

“Nah.” Prompto stood, fingers toying with his vest again. “I’m saying… we have a chance to end this thing for good. To make it so none of us, no matter how good we are at it, no matter who we did it for, don’t have to kill anymore. We wouldn’t have to worry about who has a family and who’s secretly a fucko sadist who enjoys this crap, because we’d be at peace.” He made eye contact again, his gaze wide and nervous, but he extended his hand to Gladio anyway. “But we need you on board.”

Gladio’s own eyes fell to Prompto’s extended hand, then cut back to his face. “Noct or Iggy put you up to this?”

“Nope. Whatever they have to say, you’ll have to ask them. You don’t have to like me, or forgive me, or whatever those modules my ‘rehabilitation expert’ assigned me to read that I deleted immediately said. But I _am_ sorry no one told you before, because that’s not cool, and we all need to be in this together.”

It was a bitch of an irony that the one person Gladio would least expect to come forward with any kind of truth or olive branch was the first one to do it. The stubborn part of Gladio wanted to keep walking, to ignore the hand that was literally being offered to him, but the larger part… the one concerned with duty, of course, wouldn’t be denied.

They had a big ass job to do, and it was the first _real_ piece of honesty he’d gotten, which meant it was enough.

“If it helps,” Prompto started, his hand starting to tremble with the effort of holding it out, “I’d really, _really_ like to see every last one of the bastards responsible for the current state of Empire crappiness dead. Like, _so_ dead, and if I’m a very good boy this mission, maybe I’ll get to kill some of them myself.”

In spite of everything… Gladio laughed—a quiet laugh, a small laugh, a laugh that might not otherwise count as one in any other circumstance, but a laugh nonetheless, and reached out to shake Prompto’s hand.

Once they ended the handshake, Prompto let out a long, shaky breath, his normal million kilowatt smile back in place. “Holy shit, dude, I thought you might actually kill and slash or seriously maim me there for a sec.”

“I considered it.” Gladio rubbed his freshly buzzed head with his palm, back and forth, warring with his pride. “I ain’t gonna promise we’ll be friends, but hell, I meant it when I said you have a lot of balls to come talk to me, and that doesn’t count for nothing.”

“Everything starts somewhere. We’ll see how long you hold out against my irresistible charm, excellent mechanical prowess, and—”

“Prompto.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m going now. See you in T minus eight.”

Once Prompto was gone, Gladio unmuted the Armiger before continuing with his conditioning. He wasn’t ready to talk to Ignis, not yet, but the option was there.

Just in case.

* * *

{We’ll be entering Accordo’s orbit in one standard hour. All hands report to the bridge for mission prep.}

Gladio had expected Ignis to be the one making the announcement for their arrival, so Noct’s voice in his head came as a mild surprise. He’d been ready for days—been ready since the moment they broke Lucis’ atmo, if he thought back far enough. Weapons and armor stored in the Armiger, Crownsguard fatigues on, and one last check of his comms later (no response to the messages he’d sent Iris or Nyx), Gladio made his way to the bridge.

The reality of their situation stripped any residual anger or nervousness from him. Gladio worked best in the heat of the moment, when there was work to be done, and he had a feeling there would be _plenty_ of work once they got to Altissia proper.

He was the last one to enter the bridge, the other three clustered in front of the pilot’s chair. Of course, Ignis locked eyes with him the nanosecond it was possible to do so, and Gladio was relieved to find himself able to give him a neutral, confident stare in return.

“No issues with the automated port authority?” Gladio asked.

“No, thankfully. One of the benefits of Accordo being much more heavily frequented than a place such as Coernix Station is the reliance on automated processes. I’ll continue to monitor any activity during our approach and throughout our time on the ground,” Ignis supplied, one hand on his hip, the other adjusting his visor.

Ignis, all business.

“Stella sent word that she’s still safely holding position in Altissia to hand over the key, so all that’s left to do is get there, grab the key, and get off planet.” Noct’s hands were crossed tightly over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line, and Gladio couldn’t bring himself to give a shit how pissed off or nervous he was.

Not when he was holding a macrocosm of thoughts and questions at bay inside his own head.

“For the record… if there _is_ a record for any of this fucking insanity… I still don’t like that we’re going in unarmored. For all the neutrality bullshit, Accordo is still in bed with the Niffs—place is bound to be crawling with them.” Gladio cut his gaze back and forth between Noct and Ignis as he spoke, making sure both of them registered the comment.

“One of the disadvantages to Altissia’s high population and advanced infrastructure is increased surveillance once we’re planetside. Once we utilize the teleporter located at Mhaago’s, we’ll be in the heart of Altissia proper, and we’d be best off assuming that all of our movements will be logged and tracked _somewhere_.” Ignis stood straighter as he spoke, chin lifting a fraction.

Great. Another battle with _Operative Scientia’s_ pride.

“You know this part of the plan better than me,” Gladio conceded. “Latest position of the Niff fleet?”

“Last known location was Hashmal Gate, which gives us approximately 48 standard hours to conduct our business and allow for a suitable escape window,” Ignis said smoothly. He finally tilted his head in Prompto’s direction, his eyes following the motion. “Prompto did a commendable job of managing the Regalia’s speed in comparison to its fuel efficiency.”

“Commendable? Try _frickin’ amazing_. Can’t take all the credit though. This new girl is full of new tricks,” Prompto corrected, beaming a grin and earning an eye roll from Noct.

Gladio nodded once in affirmation. “Good work.” Once he spoke, he could practically feel three sets of eyes lock on him, like the tingle across his skin when the ship was preparing for hyperspace jump. “What?!” he snapped, frustration making the word harsher than he’d meant it.

How long was everyone going to act like he was some Scourged beast in need of pacification? Did anyone actually consider him part of the team, or was he just along for the ride because the Coalition said so?

If Gladio had thought the expressions of the crew shocked before, they were stunned now: Prompto’s eyes were wide and his pierced lips pursed in an ‘o’; Noct’s arms had fallen to his sides, fists clenched into tight balls, eyes equally wide; Ignis, true to form, contained his reaction to raised eyebrows and the hint of a grimace.

It had been so long since Gladio’d been connected to the Armiger that, he realized belatedly, his own embarrassment simmering inside a hastily erected containment field, he’d spoken those words over the network.

To everyone.

Noct was the first to react. “That what you really think? That we’re big enough assholes to see you as an animal?” The magenta rings around his eyes began to glow, piercing and bright in the dim approach lighting of the bridge. “We’re all screwing up here, and yeah, I messed up by not telling you about Prom, but you acting like a damn martyr… you’re managing that pretty good _all on your own_.” Noct spat the last words out and stormed past Gladio, exiting the bridge.

One deep breath. Two. Three. Ignore the tiny alerts flashing on his own one-sided visor about his fluctuating vitals.

This, Gladio thought, making sure his thought was his and his alone, was the biggest problem with taking an inexperienced soldier into battle. Into a mission this dire. Given the events of the past few cycles, Gladio expected the anger to rise up within him at Noct’s words, but instead, he felt…

Resignation. Resignation that bled, slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, into nothing.

“He gonna be back to man his station for landing?” Gladio asked to no one in particular.

“I’ll go get him,” Prompto offered quickly, already following in Noct’s stalking footsteps. He paused when he passed by Gladio, patting him on the forearm and glancing up. “Calling us a team is kinda like calling a hyperwave core two reactors short ‘functioning’, but I think we’re doing pretty good, all things considered. No hard feelings, buddy.”

Once Prompto left, that left Gladio with Ignis. He felt like he needed a respirator with all the sudden _heaviness_ in atmo.

“Well? Gonna go chase after His Highness?” Gladio jerked a thumb in the direction of the bridge doors. “I’d help, but I’m not in the mood for threats right now.”

Ignis sighed audibly and removed his visor, pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to make two white indents on either side of it. {Prompto’s quite proficient at navigating Noctis’ moods… he’ll manage.} Another sigh and Ignis lifted his gaze to Gladio’s, deep and luminous and green, a tiny furrow between his brows once he released his hold on his nose. {Gladio…}

{If you’re just going to feed me some static about how I’m part of the team, you can skip it. You made your priorities pretty fuckin’ clear. As clear as you make anything.} Gladio drew up to his full height, chest out, bravado to cover how trapped he felt in this stupid shitting outfit, in this stupid shitting ship, with this stupid shitting man.

{I apologize for not immediately informing you of Prompto’s background. I was concerned… I was concerned it would preclude your participation in the mission, and my motives were entirely personal and selfish.} His eyes slid away from Gladio as he spoke inside his head.

Gladio blinked and wondered if he’d fallen asleep en route to Accordo, if he’d dreamt the words. {A little late, Iggy, but thanks for saying so.} They were too close to touchdown, they were too close to everything _period_ , and the volatile charge between them couldn’t afford to be unleashed, not now. {Doesn’t change the fact that hiding it was fucked up. Doesn’t change the fact I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m the odd man out.}

With four crisp clicks of heeled boots, Ignis stood beside Gladio, close enough to invade his senses like malicious code, weaving through it like a virus, undetected until the minute it took every system down. {You are more to me than a teammate, Gladiolus. I should think that much is obvious.}

{Then when are you gonna start acting like it?} Gladio challenged, staring Ignis down, pulse kicking into overtime. Ignis was a mass of contradictions bundled neatly in a two meter, cybernetically augmented form, but one thing Gladio consistently admired, no matter how frustrated… Ignis never backed down.

Ignis held his gaze without flinching, features approaching a state Gladio might call softness given who he was looking at. {I’ve finally discovered a way to circumvent the… restrictions… I’m under. Once we’re clear of Altissia… once we’re _both_ clear of Altissia, you deserve the truth.}

 _You deserve the truth_. How could one phrase threaten to shake his foundation so thoroughly?

{Haven’t I always?} Gladio resisted the urge to cup Ignis’ cheek in his hand, to reach out for connection, for the reassurance that physical comfort provided. It was easier to stop himself as he recalled the image of Ignis interposing his own body between Gladio and Noctis, of other words spoken in anger— _I will control it for you._

Not easy enough.

{Yes,} Ignis agreed, quick and certain, {you have. Why do you think I worked so hard to save you?}

{Hell if I know. If I had to guess, because failure ain’t a word in your vocabulary,} Gladio replied with a grim chuckle.

{It’d be more accurate to say I didn’t want to fail _you_.} Ignis slid a gloved hand up Gladio’s chest, leather against leather, until it rested over his heart, a singular point of contact that made every augmented bone in Gladio’s body buzz with anticipation. With a rueful smile, Ignis added. {I suspect I already have, in some ways, but I’ll do my utmost to avoid it in the future.}

As soon as Gladio felt the pressure from Ignis’s palm reduce, he grabbed his wrist tight, holding it in place, pulse thumping a furious rhythm in his chest. {You haven’t failed me, Iggy. Not by a long shot.}

He couldn’t be sure who made the first move—or if there _was_ a first move, because in this moment, for the first time, Gladio thought they had met each other halfway. In a blink, their lips were pressed together, urgent, Gladio yielding to the insistent demand of Ignis’ tongue, his hand still splayed across Gladio’s heart even as he bent his elbow to accommodate the need for closeness. Soon, the hands shifted too, Ignis’ sliding down to grip Gladio’s waist, Gladio’s hands cupping either side of Ignis’s face as he’d tried to keep himself from doing not minutes before.

Gladio didn’t know if Ignis was the praying sort, knew damn sure he himself wasn’t, but if he were, this kiss, this embrace would be the closest to praying Gladio got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my apology for the delay in this update. Life Happened (TM), and I'm finally getting to a point where I'm feeling creative again. No matter if it's two weeks or two months between updates, I LOVE this story, and will keep writing until we get to the end of Gladio's journey. Thank you for your patience, your readership, and your support.
> 
> While I didn't beat NaNo, I do have a few more chapters lined up for Artificial, so we'll see y'all again in three weeks. For those who celebrate during this time of year, I wish you the happiest of holiday seasons. <3


	15. Altissia, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and the rest of the team land on Accordo.

The beauty of Accordo’s surface and the g-forces as the Regalia descended into orbit rendered Gladio breathless.

He’d never seen Galahd, but he’d heard enough stories from Nyx to imagine the comparison. Both were ocean planets, terraformed in different ways to accommodate the growing population of the galaxy and support human life; people took to the skies in Galahd, but on Accordo, they lived on its surface in floating, man made structures designed to resist the constant wear and tear of the waves. From this far away, Gladio could barely make them out through the observation windows, grey and brown dots speckling the churning teal waters of Accordo.

If you were _really_ fucking rich, you lived in Altissia, an opulent city at the bottom of Accordo’s ocean, and their current destination.

{Noctis, could you please respond to the incoming comm from Weskham regarding docking procedures?} Ignis’s question balanced polite and authoritative in equal measure.

{Transfer it over.} Gladio assumed Noct would refuse—or at the very least, put up a fight—but he seemed to have checked whatever attitude he had at the door.

Good.

As much as Gladio sometimes detested the Armiger Network, he had to admit it had its uses, such as now, when the roaring noise of them breaking atmo filled the bridge. He manually adjusted his hearing augments through his neurolink (a new trick he’d picked up when he’d had nothing better to do than wait), noting the brief confirmation of the change that popped up on the single panel of his visor.

{If you don’t slow us down a _tiiiiiiiny_ bit, we might lose a shield panel or two, and those take like, at least two standard to fix, soooo…}

{I’ve calculated our trajectory and accounted for our speed and approach vector. The risk of us losing a section of shield paneling is far less than the risk of us encountering an Imperial patrol if we dally.} Yeah, there was Ignis, cool and calculated.

{Engineer’s log: let the record state an officially official complaint was lodged at approximately—}

{C’mon, Prom, it’s time to be serious.} For once, Gladio and Noct agreed.

Gladio said nothing, keeping his eyes fused to the terminal of the weapon station, monitoring incoming data in the event another ship began pursuit. In a stroke of luck, the alerts section was empty. Okay, maybe he wasn’t keeping his eyes _strictly_ on the weapons section—he snuck peeks out the front observation window, taking in the almost pearlescent surface of Accordo, its single orange moon partially visible beyond the horizon.

{We’ll begin our entry of Accordo’s atmosphere in 90 standard seconds. Please ensure your restraints are properly secured.}

A chuckle bubbled out of Gladio, deep and rich. Leave it to Ignis to tell them to buckle their fucking seatbelts like some ancient Lucian advert when they were about to snatch a priceless artifact right out from under the Niff’s noses. {Or at least be near something sturdy to hold on to,} Gladio added. Another laugh followed the first as he remembered a rocky landing back in his Kingsglaive service, a landing so rough and sudden that Nyx had to phase next to his chair and hang on…

No. No time for memories, not now, not when they were _this_ shitting close to starting their mission in earnest.

90 seconds wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, and soon white-red heat engulfed the Regalia’s exterior and obscured the viewpane; an alert regarding the Regalia’s shielding flashed on his station terminal, but there was no cause for concern. Shielding was made to take far more than standard entry damage even on normal ships, and the Regalia had been designed with defense in mind. Still, Gladio kept his eyes trained on the weapons station, monitoring the real time information for any signs of potential threats. It seemed unlikely that they’d be attacked once they broke atmo, but extra caution was never a bad thing.

The moment a ship bypassed both orbit and atmosphere never failed to delight Gladio. The roar in the bridge stopped, replaced by relative silence, only the distant whirring of the artificial grav generators kicking in and adjusting for the planet’s gravity. Gladio couldn’t help a second look out the viewpane now that the obstruction from entering the atmosphere had cleared. The clear, shimmering, teal-blue waters of Accordo made it seem like a colossal aquamarine, glittering in the daylight of the distant star, Eos.

{Is this even _real_?} Prompto asked.

{Quite.} Ignis’s reply was far less curt than Gladio might have expected, almost as if he too were under the spell cast by Accordo’s beauty.

{Don’t remember it being this… clean,} Noct observed. From the corner of his eye, Gladio caught the motion of Noct fiddling with his restraints.

{One of the benefits of the neutrality agreement with the Niflheim Empire was access to terraforming maintenance and better waste disposal procedures,} Ignis explained, gloved hands moving the constructed, manual controls at the pilot’s seat with precise grace, guiding them closer towards Accordo’s watery surface.

“You can take the trash off a planet, but it doesn’t change the fact they’re still garbage for accepting the agreement,” Gladio muttered.

{It certainly wasn’t an easy choice for Madame President. This I believe most ardently. However, when the only alternative was engaging in a fight the Accordans knew they could not win, I do not blame them for their decision.}

“They coulda fought.”

{They could have,} Ignis agreed over the Armiger, dismissing the nanoparticle controls and resuming direct operation of the ship. {They would have been decimated if they chose to go that route. It only serves as a reminder how important our mission is and how vital our success is, not only for Lucis’s freedom, but for the freedom of all planets.}

{Thanks for the reminder. No pressure or anything,} Noctis mumbled—how someone could mumble _telepathically_ , Gladio hadn’t figured out.

“Hey, no losing your shit on us now, Princess. Not when you’re the key to this operation,” Gladio said over his shoulder, a stern expression settling over his features. “We’ve got your back, so you better get any stowaway baggage out the airlock now.”

{Like you have room to talk about baggage.} Given the lack of response from Ignis and Prompto, Noctis must have sent the barb to Gladio alone.

He thought long and hard about unbuckling his restraints, crossing the bridge, and finishing what he’d started in the common room with Noctis days ago. Some people, galactic royalty or not, needed a swift kick in the ass to make a lesson really sink in. Anger flared hot and heavy in his gut, churning his stomach with its intensity. Being the bigger person seemed a distinct impossibility for several standard seconds. This time, Gladio was careful to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I’d suggest reaching up your ass and pulling out whatever crawled up it and died this past week, because we have a fuckin’ job to do and we need you at 100%, not limping along with systems at half capacity.” Gladio wouldn’t play the private Armiger game like he was sure the rest of them did—if he had something to say, he’d say it out loud so everyone could hear.

The words were enough to draw Ignis’s attention. {That’s quite enough from both of you. Pointless bickering before the first critical portion of our mission isn’t going to aid us in our endeavors.} He accompanied the words with quick, sharp glances at Noct and then Gladio, giving Gladio a nice view of his profile as he did so. 

Instead of responding to Ignis, Gladio met Noct’s eyes across the bridge with a challenging stare, expecting to find their magenta rings glowing; it was obvious enough by this point that the Lucis Caelum eyes started their lightshow when Noct was angry, and maybe when he was feeling other strong emotions besides. He was surprised that Noct’s features were settled in a semblance of calm—if a bit sullen—and his eyes showing their normal blue.

{Specs is right.} That’s all Gladio got before Noct started tapping on his terminal once more, fingers moving in quick, precise motions.

Fuck it. Good enough. He liked the kid, he really did, but he had no patience to deal with his shit right now.

The information scrolling across Gladio’s terminal, delivered in real time from the Regalia’s many sensors, indicated a clean entry and no additional vessels in the vicinity. Satisfied for the time being, Gladio watched the choppy waters of Accordo pass around them as far as the eye can see.

{We’re 72 kilometres from Tidequeller continental construction where Maagho is located. Noctis, was Weskham able to confirm our rendezvous?} Ignis asked, hands moving over the controls in slower, more deliberate motions now.

{He was. Last step is getting clearance to land at Tidequeller’s docking platform before we can head to Maagho and take the teleporter down,} Noctis confirmed.

{One moment.} Ignis’ hands paused on the nanophasic controls. {Clearance obtained. We are now in possession of a 48 standard hour docking permit. Ideally, I’d prefer to be clear in half that time, but we must remain flexible.}

Whatever else Gladio could say about Ignis… and there was definitely a _lot_ of things he could say… the guy was frighteningly efficient.

Before long, Gladio could see the shape of the continental construction on the very distant edge of the Regalia’s viewpane. Collision alerts began to appear in the status section of Gladio’s terminal, but they disappeared almost as quickly when Ignis slowed the ship, the ambient noise quieting as the engines had to work less. The artificial landmass took shape right before Gladio’s eyes, a city in miniature floating on the ocean, tall gunmetal skyscrapers forming a jagged line against the coral orange of Accordo’s sky, tiny personal shuttles weaving back and forth between buildings.

{Oh man, are you guys _seeing_ this? I never got to go to Accordo back when… before. I’ve seen pictures on the Net like everyone… I mean, I’m still kinda looking at a picture since it’s a vid feed, but _damn_! This is awesome! How do they keep the city from flooding or water damage?} Prompto chattered, his excitement evident.

No sooner than Prompto wondered the last bit over the Armiger than a huge wave built on the ocean surface, heading straight for the city. Gladio watched as the wave grew taller and taller and, right as it reached the edge of the continental platform, crashed against some sort of particle barrier or shield, spraying white foam everywhere and making the air glitter with a mirage-like iridescence where water clung to the shield.

{Hell yeah! Now _that_ is some quality engineering!} Prompto chirped.

{The shields that protect the continental platforms use a similar—though far less advanced—generator as the Planetary Defense Shield back on Lucis. It was a gift to Accordo long before their declaration of neutrality. Given that the technology was bequeathed by King Tonitrus in celebration of the formation of the Galactic Parliament, it’s a wonder they haven’t worked to improve or replace the shields,} Ignis explained, guiding them closer and closer to Tidequeller.

“If it ain’t broke…” Gladio offered, words trailing off into silence.

{Indeed.}

True to Ignis’ words, a message flashed in Gladio’s visor indicating the acceptance of the Regalia’s docking permit. Granted, the docking permit was for the _Skjold Og Dolk_ —shield and dagger in Empyrean, which Gladio admitted was a nice touch by Ignis—but it allowed them to pass through the particle barrier and into the designated hangar assigned by the automated port authority. Gone was the bright light of midday on Accordo’s surface, replaced with the harsh man made lighting of the hangar, several different bright streams of LED lights indicating different pathways for incoming ships to take. Ignis slowly guided them along a neon green line until they reached their docking station, then lowered them to the ground.

This was it. They had landed.

Once the Regalia was powered down, Gladio unlocked his restraints and headed for the airlock, cycling through the inventory of items he’d stored in the Armiger as he waited for Prompto, Noctis, and Ignis to follow suit. He felt shitting naked without a full set of armor on setting foot on Niff-friendly territory, but the fact that Apocalypse was a thought away helped assuage his discomfort. 

Even though they’d had a rocky start, even though the turbulence had persisted, even though an impossible amount of pressure rested on just four sets of shoulders, even though it wasn’t the unit he was used to…

It was _his_ unit, and cyborg or no, he’d been trained to lead. To focus. To achieve the impossible.

And that was what they were going to do—or die trying.

As the four of them waited in the airlock for the decontamination protocol to finish, Gladio spoke. 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been on a fetch and retrieve mission in enemy territory, but it sure as fuck is the first time ancient machine races and ex-Tenebraen royalty are involved,” he began, folding his arms across his chest and standing up straight. “The way I figure it, same rules apply. We lay low and stay quiet, we don’t deviate from the objective, we don’t involve civilians, and we don’t engage in combat unless it’s _absolutely necessary_.” Gladio met Ignis’s eyes through his visor on the last two words for emphasis before glancing at the other two. “Understood?”

{I would add a humble reminder that Noctis’s safety must remain our number one priority at all times. Without him, the mission is an automatic failure.}

“Copy that.” Prompto added a wink and finger guns to the confirmation. With his miniature armory of guns stashed in the Armiger at Ignis’ insistence—and with a bunch of fucking complaining—he was maybe the best disguised of them all.

{Right,} Noctis confirmed, voice distorted through the mask he now wore. He kept his head tilted down towards the floor, staring intently at his toes.

The airlock re-pressurized with a drawn out hiss and the doors slid open, revealing the pristine interior of Tidequeller’s hangar.

“Let’s go,” Gladio commanded, waving the others forward as he exited the Regalia.

* * *

Within minutes of stepping onto the ‘streets’ of the floating city, Ignis loaded a map with several points of interest to Gladio’s neurolink and set it to display on his visor.

{I’ve marked local security stations in red so that we can plan our route to Maagho around them. Though I’ve been monitoring the extranet and Accordan communication channels as best I’m able, it would be wise to avoid any possible confrontation or recognition, as you indicated aboard the Regalia.}

Gladio nodded. {Thanks, Iggy. I’m not too worried about getting down to Altissia—since all these fucking islands are linked by teleporter, the Niffs tend to stay concentrated in the actual city.}

{How concentrated?} Noctis asked. At Gladio’s insistence, he held position between Gladio and Ignis, with Prompto following a couple steps behind and to the side.

{The public alert status for Altissia is set to green-low, which indicates normal maintenance levels of military and security personnel in Tidequeller and other municipalities,} Ignis replied. {As long as we make intelligent, informed choices, it shouldn’t be an issue. I will continue to monitor communications and alert you of any changes.}

Gladio chuckled to himself at Ignis’s insistence on intelligent, informed choices. Given that he’d used four mercs like shitting pincushions in the blink of an eye back on Coernix, it was Ignis he was most worried about jumping the gun. Whatever his personal differences with Prompto given his background, Gladio couldn’t deny that so far, Prompto had been the best at following orders and making wise tactical choices. He guessed Noct wouldn’t have brought him along otherwise.

It was a strange feeling to look through the gaps between buildings and see nothing but aquamarine ocean on the horizon. It was even stranger still for Gladio to know they were standing on what amounted to a floating, man made island on an ocean planet and not feel the slightest motion under his feet. Not that he ever minded a little fucking stability, of course. He tried to recall his lectures back at the Academy about the various technical specs of planets in Starsystem Eos; the floating cities of Accordo were tethered and anchored to massive, stationary hubs beneath the surface of the water, their locations specifically chosen to rest above the most shallow parts of the ocean.

And here Nyx had said getting high marks in all his courses would be useless.

{Think we can grab a bite to eat at Maagho’s? It’s supposed to be a restaurant, right? I’m starving,} Prompto asked, slinging an arm around Noct’s shoulders.

{Prom, you probably should’ve eaten before we landed. We really don’t have much time here,} Noctis responded, sounding mildly annoyed but making no move to dislodge Prompto from his side.

{I’ve read somewhere that murder is highly inadvisable on an empty stomach. Ignis would know. That’s why he does all that fancy cooking back home on Lucis, right?} Prompto pressed, flashing a cheeky grin, piercings glittering in the natural sunlight.

{There better not be any fuckin’ murdering,} Gladio snarled. {Yes, that’s precisely why I studied the culinary arts, to better fuel my personal efforts at manslaughter and _not_ because I’m expected to attend to His Highness’ every need,} Ignis said sardonically.

{You guys are too easy,} Prompto said with a laugh, fist bumping Noct in the shoulder before resuming his normal walk.

Gladio allowed one quick smile to himself; for all their difficulties, the banter felt a lot like old times with Spec Ops, ribbing each other in some new city or remote wilderness before the real action began. At least one of them was cheerful to offset all the serious. Either way, unexpected camaraderie or no, they were in the thick of it now, and Gladio couldn’t afford to lose focus. He was still concerned the four of them stuck out like analog fixtures in a digital universe, what with the all black getups and masks and oddball composition. Even though his (and Ignis’s) augments were concealed, two cyborgs traveling together was enough to stir shit up if they were recognized as such, and that wasn’t even counting their Lucian heritage and secret mission to boot.

Thankfully, Maagho was only a few kilometres away from Tidequeller’s hangar, so they reached it in short order. The restaurant turned political safehouse was situated on the end of a long row of eateries. A quick inquiry of Accordo’s local communications network indicated they were in Tidequeller’s entertainment district, and though it didn’t contain the same variety as Altissia itself would, the alley was home to everything from Tenebraen restaurants that featured entire plant-based menus to authentic Duscaen barbeque.

Maybe the shitting neurolink was more useful than Gladio gave it credit for.

{Please allow Noctis and myself to do the talking. Although we informed Weskham our arrival, we neglected to mention our two additional traveling companions in case our correspondence was monitored.} {Smart thinking,} Gladio deliberately acknowledged Ignis’s request over the Armiger and accompanied it with a nod. {After you, then.}

He and Prompto stood back while Ignis and Noctis entered the restaurant. Once he was inside, Gladio admired the interior of the establishment, the antique wooden furniture bathed in soft, inviting light, a stark contrast to the harsh illumination and sun outside. It looked like something straight out of a history vid, very 8th century Lucis, with actual barrels of what Gladio assumed were wine and whiskey situated around the perimeter. The savory, delectable scent of frying fish and earthy undertones of something Gladio couldn’t identify reached his nose, and were he not hyper aware of their tight schedule, he’d almost insist they take a break to dine there. Seemed like as good a place as any to have what might be a last meal.

Gladio followed Ignis and Noctis to the square bar in the middle of the restaurant. A pyramid of expensive liquors was stacked in the center of the bar, and overhead hung several rows of glasses. Ignis had failed to mention that Maagho’s was a fine dining sort of place, but either way, he was content to wait while Iggy and Noct sorted out their situation with the proprietor—a proprietor who approached in short order.

“Weskham,” Ignis greeted, the single word laden with enough diplomatic warmth and affection to make Gladio’s heart skip a beat.

Gladio knew fuck all about Weskham beyond what he’d been told, which amounted to the man’s status as ‘a friend of the Lucian crown.’ Whatever the hell that meant. As far as Weskham himself, he was a middle aged man of average height, dressed as impeccably as Ignis had back on Lucis, a gold wristwatch shining in contrast to his dark skin and greying hair braided in neat rows. To top it all off, the man wore an honest to Astrals _monocle_ , which sealed the 8th century Lucian vibe like a cryosleep tube. As far as Gladio could tell he wasn’t carrying any weapons, which was as far as his concern went until the rest of the conversation played out.

“It’s been an awfully long time, friend,” Weskham said, extending a hand to Ignis, who shook it and dipped his head after. “You and your companions can follow me. I’d greatly enjoy the opportunity to catch up in private,” he continued, beckoning for the group to follow him to the back of the restaurant.

None of Gladio’s well-honed instincts were screaming ‘trap’ or ‘trouble’, so he followed.

Weskham led them to a closed door on the left side of Maagho. He paused to input a shitting long combination into the keypad on the door—one of the only nods to technology Gladio could discern in the whole damn place—and then opened the door. The room appeared to be a private area some establishments had available to rent out for personal occasions. One long, polished, wooden table took up a large portion of the interior, and smaller, round side tables and plush armchairs filled up the rest.

The huge, circular teleporter resting in the corner of the room was the final touch.

“Your Highness,” Weskham said quietly before turning towards Noctis and sinking into an elegant kneel.

“Wes, please,” Noctis protested, shaking his head, features inscrutable behind the glowing mask. “You don’t need to kneel to me. If anything, I should be thanking you. I know how much we asked of you to have the teleporter reprogrammed and let us use it.”

“If you won’t allow me to kneel, then perhaps I might…” Weskham began, words faltering as he stood, arms opening up in a silent request for an embrace.

Noctis stepped forward into the hug, his head barely reaching Weskham’s shoulder, Lucian black on Altissian finery. Gladio shot Ignis an inquisitive look.

{Prior to my…} Ignis paused for a nanosecond, which was long enough for Gladio to note it, {Acquisition by the royal family, Weskham served both His Highness and His Majesty in a similar capacity to what I serve now. Much of my knowledge regarding Lucian intelligence operations _and_ royal stewardship came from Weskham, and Noctis regarded him as a familial figure before his departure planetside.}

{So what’s he doing on Accordo now?} Gladio asked Ignis privately over the Armiger. His augmented hearing could pick up every word of the conversation between Noctis and Weskham, but it didn’t really concern him or the mission, so he tuned it out, allowing the pair their privacy for what seemed like a long awaited reunion.

{Before the Empire seized control of the hyperspace gates outside Lucian space, Weskham left Lucis on orders from His Majesty. He serves as our primary intelligence contact on Accordo, though his reports have decreased in frequency as of late due to the Empire’s increasing surveillance of incoming and outgoing communications. Speaking of…} Ignis hummed under his breath.

“Pardon the interruption, but is our correspondence within this room clear?” Ignis asked aloud, green eyes sharp with focus.

Weskham’s large, brown eyes drifted from Noctis’s mask to Ignis. “Yes, although if I’m going to claim a security system malfunction, we don’t have much time. I also… I would ask who your companions are, but I feel the less knowledge I have, the better off we all are. Please accept this as my humble apology for the lack of hospitality.”

“No offense taken,” Gladio said, waving off the apology with one black-webbed hand. “That’s just sounds like good sense to me.”

“I appreciate your understanding. Your Highness, I… I’m so very glad to see you again. No matter what happens, please know that everything I’ve done for Lucis and for the Crown, I’ve done willingly. Serving the royal line has been the greatest honor of my entire life,” Weskham insisted, his hands gripping Noctis’s shoulders tightly.

“Weskham Armaugh, the royal line of Lucis sees and acknowledges your service. By the authority granted to me by both the Galactic Parliament and His Majesty Regis Lucis Caelum, I offer you an honorable discharge at the conclusion of the war, with a liveable stipend to be paid by the crown for the remainder of your life.” Noctis lifted a hand and clasped Weskham’s shoulder in return. Thought Gladio couldn’t see his face, he could see the change in Noct’s posture, spine straight and chin lifted, and could hear the regal sincerity through the distortion of his mask. 

{Woah. That was almost like a different Noct,} Prompto observed, glancing up through his eyelashes at Gladio.

{Yeah,} Gladio agreed, {it was.}

“Thank you,” Weskham whispered, drawing Noct into another quick hug before regarding the group as a whole. After taking a moment to steady himself, he continued, “The teleporter is active for the next 40 standard hours. Keeping it active longer than that will draw more power consumption for Maagho than has been normal for several years, so I cannot stress to you the importance of completing your mission in a timely fashion.”

“Noted,” Ignis said.

Weskham’s gaze locked on each of them in turn, studying, observing. “You have a long, arduous road ahead of you. If you take one piece of advice from a man who’s been away from home too long… rely on each other. You can accomplish far more together than you could apart, so work as a team.” 

“We will,” Noct promised solemnly. Solemn enough that Gladio believed it.

“Good,” Weskham said, removing his monocle and wiping at his eyes with a sleeve. “Now get going. Altissia awaits.”

{I’ll go first,} Gladio offered.

{We’ll be right behind you.} Ignis’s words held a rare softness in his mind.

{Aren’t you always?} Gladio shot back, full of familiar confidence, and Ignis’s quiet laugh in reply sent a shiver across his skin.

Gladio had taken teleporters before. For whatever reason, they fucked him up way less than warping did, all of the instant transportation with none of the nausea or vertigo. This one was even large enough to accommodate his height and bulk. Once he was settled inside the wide circle, he looked to Weskham.

“You have a code to activate this, or can I request it myself?” Gladio asked, gesturing to the panel on the side of the singular metal bar attached to the teleporter.

“Go right ahead,” Weskham said.

As soon as Gladio placed his palm against the panel to signal his acquiescence, he was _elsewhere_.

There was no other way to explain warping or teleportation, really. All of it happened in less time than the human—or cyborg—mind could process, atoms scattering and reforming at their destination. For one long, hanging, terrifying, exhilarating moment, Gladio was nowhere, and then he slammed back into consciousness, senses returning to him in one overwhelming rush.

The endless expanse of ocean above him, the artificially fragranced recycled air designed to remind visitors of tropical beaches, and the glittering and golden opulence surrounding him could only mean one thing:

He was in Altissia.

* * *

{There are so many people,} Noctis observed, mask swiveling back and forth to better take in the surroundings.

{Bit of an understatement,} Gladio said. There were so many people, in fact, that he doubted he’d be heard over the ambient noise without yelling, and he wasn’t in the mood to raise his voice.

Weskham’s teleporter had dropped them in the middle of the transport hub for Altissia’s commercial district. Gladio guessed the choice had been deliberate—chances were slim to none anyone would single out four guys in this shitshow. He found himself watching people materialize out of thin air inside the myriad rows of teleporters, sometimes in such quick succession that the second person would have to wait for the first to clear the front of the device. He couldn’t recall offhand, and he didn’t want to risk unnecessary inquiries of Accordo’s comm network to find out for sure, but it must have been one of the largest transport hubs on the planet. There was more signage than he could shake his dick at, that’s for sure, and a surge of gratitude welled up within him when Ignis spoke.

{Once I review the latest intel to verify any changes, I’ll proceed to uploading a three dimensional map of Altissia to your neurolinks. As we discussed aboard the Regalia, I’d prefer we rendezvous with Stella Nox Fleuret as soon as possible.}

{That’s sort of the plan, Specs. I’ll try to comm her now,} Noct responded.

{Don’t forget to run the encryption protocol prior to sending any outgoing messages,} Ignis added.

{I _got_ it.} Gladio could hear the eye roll in Noct’s tone even if he couldn’t see it.

{You wanna lead the way or should I?} Gladio interjected, his gaze naturally falling on Ignis as he spoke to him through the Armiger.

Ignis looked… flawless as always, and strangely, he seemed more calm than he had back when they’d disembarked on Coernix. With his sharp profile, high cheekbones, eclectic black clothing, and swept back pompadour, he fit right in with the rest of the milling Altissian crowds; the city fashioned itself as a great cultural metropolis, and Gladio reckoned there was probably some truth to that, even if he had to raise an eyebrow at the shitting bizarre display of eccentricity around him. The multicoloured, elaborate constructions that passed as fucking clothing for most of the crowd made their own stark black uniforms and glowing masks and leather gloves seem tame in comparison.

{You’re staring, Gladiolus.} The words were delivered in a coy lilt, and Ignis raised an eyebrow over his visor, the vestiges of a smile playing about his lips. The eyes—it was always the eyes with him, electronic noise scrolling across his internal HUD, the vivid green of them as intense as his expressions were.

{Can you blame me?} Gladio asked with a grin. {If we’re gonna die on this rock, I’d like the last fucking thing I pay real attention to to be worth it.}

An sharp elbow to Gladio’s side made him grunt and look down at Noctis, whose mask bored two silver holes into him. {Are you done yet? For two guys who’ve done nothing but harp on how fast we need to be moving, we’re sure spending a lot of time dawdling.}

Gladio hip checked Noctis, which given their difference in heights was closer to a shoulder check. {Calm the hell down. Iggy and I were just deciding who’d go first.}

{I believe it would be best for Gladio and I to take the lead together. I can navigate and he can keep watch for any potential threats or Imperial patrols. Prompto, are you comfortable bringing up the rear?}

Prompto wiggled his eyebrows. {Am I ever? I’ll be the best rear bringer upper this side of the sun. Rears. I’m guardin’ em.}

Between Gladio’s bulk and Ignis’s hyper focused stride, the two of them managed to clear a path through the transport hub fairly easily. Aside from a handful of civilian security officers, Gladio didn’t see any other potential threats to be aware of. It was hard to miss uniformed Niff soldiers—they weren’t usually fucking shy about strutting around in full uniform or, Shitting Astrals, the elaborate suits of armor worn by Imperators.

{What are the chances that Prompto will be able to maintain focus once we’re out of this building and in full view of the suspended canals?} Ignis asked, shooting Gladio a glance through his peripheral vision.

Gladio chuckled. {Slim to none, with heavy leanings towards none. With any luck, we’ll be in and out of here before we need him to focus.}

{I sincerely hope you’re correct. To clarify, I hope you’re correct about departing Altissia as soon as possible, though I suspect you’re right about Prompto’s situation as well.}

There was no telling yet on his second prediction, but Gladio’s first was proved when they stepped outside the transportation hub and onto the city’s streets.

{Oh em _gee_ ,} Prompto said, awestruck, neck craned backwards as he studied the sky above them. {Are those… are those literal, actual, real bodies of water suspended by the largest mag-grav chambers I have ever seen, or do my eyes deceive me? Hold up, _are there people riding in boats in them?_ Guys, this may be our one and only chance. I don’t know if one of these things will get us close to wherever castle the princess is hiding in, but we _gotta_.}

The first time Gladio had been to Altissia was with his dad, way back when he was a little kid, before the Niffs started making big pushes for territory and backing Lucis into a corner. The last time he’d been on it was with Nyx and the Kingsglaive, an intelligence mission on one of the floating continents that involved a brief detour down below. In either case...

It was just as fucking beautiful as he remembered.

Unless Gladio hadn’t known better, there’d be no way to tell he was standing in a super high tech dome on the bottom of the ocean floor. The entire inside of the enclosure was fitted with responsive displays that were programmed to reflect the environmental changes of a standard day. Right now, it was late afternoon, the orange of the holographic sky bleeding into pink and gold. Since it clearly wasn’t enough to build one of the most advanced cities in the galaxy under a shitton of water, the architecture of the districts themselves were a marvel all their own. None of the cheap, synthetic, easily mass produced building materials for Altissia—Gladio read somewhere once that all the pale marble-esque stone for its domed interior structures came from way the hell offworld. Same with the glydenite, an element used in the domed roofs typical of Altissian design that naturally helped to regulate the humidity within the city. And the jewel in the crown? While most districts rested at ground level, the ones for the wealthiest people and businesses—the First Secretary’s included—hung in the false sky, linked by the same teleporter network they’d taken down from the surface.

More than the floating canals Prompto was still gaping at, more than the impeccably clean buildings (and people around them), one thing was clear: if war had touched Altissia, it showed no signs of it.

{If we’re all done gawking, we have an objective to complete. Have you been able to establish a connection with Miss Nox Fleuret?} Ignis asked.

{She’s not answering,} Noctis responded, prickly.

“Not a good sign,” Gladio muttered.

{There’s no need to assume the worst at this juncture. It’s reasonable to hypothesize Miss Nox Fleuret may not be alone or may be otherwise occupied. Please continue attempting to comm her every half standard hour, Noctis. We require coordinates, or at the very least a location, in order to proceed.}

“Assuming the worst has saved my ass more than once,” Gladio protested, earning a skeptical glance from Ignis.

{I’ll keep trying. Dunno why she couldn’t transmit the coordinates before we got here,} Noctis wondered.

{The more system comm relays a message has to pass through, the greater its chances of being intercepted, and unless she has access to the military grade QCN encryption that we do aboard the Regalia, utilizing the QCN harbors even more risk. The probability of an issue seems marginal at this juncture.}

“Lotta words to say ‘its fine’, Iggy,” Gladio said with a grin.

{That’s Specs for you. Never use one word when seven hundred will do,} Noct followed, voice lifting to a teasing lilt.

{I, for one, can totally relate to using seven hundred words in place of one, even if mine aren’t organized and grammatically correct like Ignis’s. Speaking of seven hundred words in place of one, can we please please please please please please _please PLEASE PLEASE_ —}

{The gondolas are not a secure mode of transportation, Prompto.} Gladio wasn’t sure if Prompto had naturally come to the end of his train of thought or if Ignis had done something to silence him.

Prompto temporarily moved to the front of the group and walked backwards while broadcasting over the Armiger, gesticulating wildly with his hands. {Come _on_ , Ignis! We can’t just come all this way and not do a _single_ fun thing. All calibrations and no target acquisition makes us dull boys. Besides, we have Gladio, and he’s like, a walking security station all in one, and on top of that we have _you_ , which doubles that, and then we have yours truly, which means by default we’re the most secure part of this city wherever we are. Including on a gondola. In the sky. In the _water_ in the sky.}

{You neglect to include the consequences of an open firefight in the middle of Altissia in your calculations,} Ignis said acerbically.

{Gladio? Big guy? C’mon. C’monnnn. You know the value of a little R&R before a crazy insane mission. You can knock people out with your pinky finger. It’ll be fine, won’t it?}

{Haven’t really had much time for fun, what with all the serving the Glaive and dying and trying to get my bearings with all the cyborg shit…} At Prompto’s crestfallen expression, Gladio continued. {But he kind of does have a point about us packing way more fucking firepower than half the district security combined. One gondola ride to the Parco Listro district won’t hurt, so long as we don’t shoot off flares and start announcing that the goddamn Crown Prince of Lucis has arrived.}

{Really, Gladio?} Ignis asked flatly.

Gladio shrugged one shoulder and opened a channel directly to Ignis. {Consider it me trying to terraform the polluted atmo after my blowup back on the ship.}

If Ignis had anything further to say to Gladio, he didn’t. {A single gondola ride to the district Miss Nox Fleuret indicated while we await further details regarding her location.}

Prompto whooped and pumped his fist in the air. {Yes, _yes_ , this is gonna be so freakin’ awesome. Noct, buddy, you ever ridden in one of these before?}

{I’ve been to Altissia lots of times before the neutrality stuff with the Empire. But one last ride would be nice,} Noct said somberly.

Gladio watched as Ignis reached out and rested a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. Though Gladio wasn’t privy to the conversation, it was clear they were having one, and if he weren’t spaceblack crazy, Ignis appeared genuinely concerned, features pinched close and eyes full of worry. Noctis nodded a few times in response to whatever Ignis was saying and then the two withdrew from each other, falling back into the position they’d set upon leaving the transport hub.

All of them, including Prompto, fell into silence as they made their way to the nearest gondola port, the location blinking in time with Gladio’s heartbeat on the map his visor displayed. Even if it was fake, the scent of warm sunlight on sand and a hint of clean salt in the air reminded Gladio of Galdin Quay, a memory that felt a million kilometres and a hundred years away now. The throngs of people following neatly arranged electronic crosswalks illuminating the street, the towering, golden domed buildings overhead, the sleek and shimmering shuttles of the Altissian elite, _those_ were reminders of exactly how far away Gladio was from home.

How much he still hoped against hope to go _back_ home after this.

To have a home to go back to.

* * *

“This. Is. Awesome,” Prompto breathed, gripping the sides of the boat and craning his neck to see below.

Gladio was torn. Squeezing the four of them into the long, narrow, flat-bottomed boat was a mission in itself—Gladio and Ignis ended up opposite sides of the craft due to their size, the vessel rocking in the actual goddamn water suspended next to the boarding platform. He had to spread his legs to make room for Ignis’s knees and tried very fucking hard to ignore the warmth of Ignis’s outer thigh pressed against his inner, all lean muscle underneath the leather attire. Noct sat next to Ignis and leaned away, mask still on as per the Operative’s orders despite the relative height and isolation, shoulders slouched. He’d been more quiet than usual since departing the Regalia; Gladio assumed a combination of nerves and whatever comm attempts he was making in the background, but resolved to keep an eye on him, just in case.

Still, the view was pretty magnificent, the entire grid-like layout of Altissia visible below them as the boat auto-piloted along its preset destination, glittering nearly two kilometres beneath them.

“I wonder if the mag-grav chambers have a gap at the top or if they’re like… a really long isolation chamber,” Prompto mused aloud, face tilted up, the arm with colourful tattoos extended up towards the sky. “There’s one fast way to find out, but I’m pretty sure they’d have collision alarms on a baby of this magnitude, plus if it _is_ an isolation chamber, who knows the concentration of oxygen they’re pumping into the air in here. One little spark and _boom!_ Fire.”

“You seriously talking about opening fire in an enclosed location to see if the shitting top of this thing is open or closed? What kind of fucking insanity did the Niffs let you get up to in your free time?” Gladio demanded.

“They were big on the whole ‘in the name of progress, the ends justify the means’ thing. How else does every non-slave in the Empire get to live such a cushy life if not on the backs of people who have no choice but to work hard?” Prompto snarked. It was one of the first traces of bitterness Gladio had heard from him, an echo of the same deadness in his ultraviolet eyes when he’d shot the mercs on Coernix, before his features returned to normal.

{The magnetic gravitational chamber is entirely enclosed to better maintain atmospheric conditions and control the velocity of the water within. Do not withdraw any of your weapons from the Armiger,} Ignis said, giving Prompto a vicious side-eye through his visor.

“Ignis, I gotta be honest, I’m not super pumped that you made me put them in there in the first place. Summoning them is _nearly_ instant, not instant, and that handful of nanoseconds could—”

“WELCOME TO THE BEAUTIFUL CITY OF ALTISSIA!” Gladio summoned Apocalypse to hand without thinking and whirled towards the shouted words, rocking the boat back and forth in the process. His grimace became a disbelieving stare as he turned to face a VR projection of a smiling woman, ‘dressed’ in flowy, traditional Altissian garb and beaming at the group. 

“Nice, Gladio,” Noct commented, his quiet laugh distorted by the mask.

Gladio gave Noct a flat stare, settled back into his seat, and dismissed Apocalypse as the VR continued.

“YOUR IDENT-CHIPS INDICATE YOU HAIL ALL THE WAY FROM THE ROCKY SHORES OF EUSCIELLO. WOW, THAT’S QUITE THE JOURNEY! WE’RE SO DELIGHTED THAT YOU’VE CHOSEN ALTISSIA AS YOUR VACATION DESTINATION. WHETHER ITS BUSINESS OR PLEASURE, ALTISSIA HAS MUCH TO OFFER ANY TRAVELER!” 

“There a volume option on this fucking thing?” Gladio snarled, leaning over Prompto to search for any kind of control panel.

“Group poll: how do we all feel about destruction of Altissian property?” Prompto asked, voice strained.

“I’D BE DELIGHTED TO TELL YOU ABOUT LOCAL NEWS, ALTISSIAN HISTORY, OR THE WIDE VARIETY OF ATTRACTIONS AVAILABLE FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT. TO SELECT THESE OPTIONS, SIMPLY SAY ‘NEWS’, ‘HISTORY’ OR—”

{None of the above,} Ignis said over the Armiger, lips twisted in grim satisfaction as the blaring VR projection abruptly cut out. {Whomever decided to install mandatory tour guide programs on the individual gondolas should be dismissed from their position immediately.} 

“Did you just kill the whole shitting VR?” Gladio asked.

{I merely suspended the program. On its next activation, it will inform the user—quietly—of how to access local comm networks for any desired information before closing itself,} Ignis corrected, his tiny smirk turning pleased, green eyes glittering behind his visor.

Huh. Imagine that. Operative Scientia with a goddamn sense of humor.

“Hey, Noct? You okay?”

The worry in Prompto’s question made Gladio jerk his head in Noct’s direction. His pulse kicked into double time as he saw Noct slumped forward, head between his knees, one hand gripping either side of his mask.

{My… my head…} Noct ground out over the Armiger, the edges of the words hazy, like it was an effort to even broadcast them.

{The virtual construction’s volume was quite loud, but it wasn’t migraine inducing. Noctis, was this onset sudden?} Ignis asked, a flurry of electronic activity lighting up his visor as he studied Noct.

{No… as soon as we landed, it’s… _augh!_ } Noct rocked forward, body curled in on itself. {Can’t breathe.}

“Prompto, switch with me. Ignis, get the damn mask off,” Gladio ordered, barely waiting for Prompto to shuffle awkwardly past him to the other side of the gondola before sliding over. “Noct, you gotta talk to us. What’s going on? Is it… uh, shit, Luna? Something with your neurolink? Any other symptoms?” Gladio said, gently lifting Noct’s torso up to give Ignis better access to his mask. 

{Not just Luna…} Noct panted, words tight and strained, body rigid with tension. Once Ignis released the closures on either side of his mask, he began to gasp for air, eyes screwed shut and the long fringe of his hair damp with sweat.

{I’m running a full med-scan on Noctis now. There’s some sort of… systemic anomaly present in his nervous system. All cross-checks against established medical databases are returning negative,} Ignis explained, attention focused on Noct.

“C’mon Noct. Just because I kicked your ass last battle royale in Costlemark doesn’t mean you get to be all dramatic,” Prompto said, obvious worry stretching out the teasing remark. He lapsed into some other babble about their VR game, clearly trying to distract Noct, so Gladio tuned him out.

{Bio-weapon? Scans have been clean since we left the airlock, though,} Gladio asked, answering his own question in the same turn.

{A biological agent was my first suspicion. Whatever this is appears to be localized in the central nervous system.} Ignis glanced up at Gladio, features sharpened with laser-like focus.

{Shitting Astrals _._ Can you _fix_ it?}

{Without access to more advanced medical equipment, our options are extremely limited.}

{Backtracking to the Regalia will take too long. If you load us coordinates to the nearest med facility, I can get him there and you’ll have access to better equipment.}

“Uh, guys? _Guys?_ Something is happening,” Prompto said, oddly calm despite the urgency of his words.

The sight that greeted Gladio when he looked up made him feel like someone had jabbed him with a handful of combat stims, heart thundering hard enough for several beats that he feared it might explode altogether.

Noct stared at each of them in turn, a curious smirk on his face. Instead of a single magenta ring, his eyes blazed with red-pink light, any trace of blue eliminated from them. “My, my, my. Sister dearest really has been rallying all sorts of interesting champions in her exile, I see.” Though the voice sounded like Noct in theory, the word choice, the _attitude_ made it plain as day that whoever… _whatever_ was talking wasn’t him at all.

{Ignis?} Gladio asked, as cautious and quiet in his head as though he were speaking the words aloud.

{It appears we’ve located the source of the anomaly,} Ignis responded with perfect, emotionless calm.

“Please, _relax._ I have no intention of harming the boy.” Not-Noct paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger. “I have no intention of harming the boy _yet_ , I suppose would be more accurate to say. I merely wish to have a conversation.”

“Then I’d suggest you start talking.” Judging by Ignis’s tone, it was not a fucking suggestion. 

Gladio’s mind worked through various scenarios at breakneck pace. They were beyond trapped. Tactically speaking, Gladio couldn’t think of many worse places he’d ended up in throughout his career than in a floating fucking gondola, two kilometres in the air with forces _way_ beyond his pay grade at work. Still, there’d be no point in setting the thing inside Noct off, so he waited, focusing on what Noct’s passenger had to say.

The thing wearing Noct’s face kept the oily smirk, but his—its?—burning magenta eyes took on a sinister cast. “Give up this fool’s errand. Do you truly believe an ex-slave, two of the Coalition’s lackluster attempts at scientific progress, and a pathetic example of the Lucis Caelum bloodline can defeat an entire empire?” The smirk melted into a mocking simper. “I’m afraid LUNAFREYA hasn’t been entirely forthright with you.”

{Keep him talking, Gladio. I believe I’ve found a vulnerability to exploit.}

“And what exactly has she been keeping from us?” Gladio asked, eyes narrowed. Truth be told, he didn’t know much of what Luna _had_ told Noct, only that she existed and was part of their mission. Maybe Ignis did. In fact, Gladio would bet his life that he did, and he planned on asking if they made it out of this situation in tact.

“She considers herself the last Oracle. It’s charming, really, how she insists that she’s the last of our kind—I imagine her _dignity_ wouldn’t allow otherwise. It’s less charming that she neglected to tell you there are two of us, in point of fact, with me being the second. The folly of younger siblings. Isn’t that right, Gladiolus?”

At the mention of Iris and the veiled threat within, it took all of Gladio’s self control not to lunge for Not-Noct. Whatever power this thing had to take control of Noct’s body like some kind of twisted flesh and blood android probably meant that it wouldn’t be harmed even if Noct was.

{Almost there,} Ignis advised. 

Gladio leaned forward until his face was centimetres away from those burning, brilliant magenta eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. “Who are you, asshole? I wanna know what name to add to the long list of people we’re gonna wipe off the face of the goddamn universe.”

The laughter that came from Noct’s mouth was barely human. “Oh, how _delightful_. At least this should be entertaining.” A pause, a knowing grin. “You may call me Ardyn, and I very much look forward to meeting you all. If you make it that far.”

With no warning, the light faded from Noct’s eyes, the colour returning to their normal blue before they fluttered closed and he slumped forward. Gladio caught him by instinct, his body completely limp in his arms.

“What in the _fuck_ was that?” Gladio demanded aloud, adrenaline still spiked high enough to break atmo.

{Yet another complication,} Ignis responded, his entire focus on the unresponsive Noct.

Though his face was tilted down, Gladio could still make out Ignis’ expression, and for the first time since meeting him, he saw genuine, raw fear in Ignis’s bright green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been exactly one year since I posted the first chapter of Artificial—back when I thought it would just be a simple one shot—and what better way to celebrate than with an update! If you're still here after all this time, thank you _so_ much from the very bottom of my heart. One of my 2019 goals is to see this beast through to the end, and I can't wait to show you all what's next.  <3 
> 
> As always, I love to hear from you. The next update will come soon after Gladio Rarepair Week, which you can find information about on [Tumblr](https://gladiorarepairweek.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/gladiorarepair)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated during this long-haul beast of a slow burn. <3 [You can find me on Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra) for more screaming about these cyberpunk boys.


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